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VICE VERSA; 

OR, 


LESSOlsr TO FATHEES. 


E. ANSTEY^ 




SECOND EDITION 


NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 

1882 . 




I 




» 






4 


PEEFAOE. 


There is an old story of a punctiliously polite 
Greek, who, while performing the funeral of an infant 
daughter, felt hound to make his excuses to the spec- 
tators for ‘‘bringing out such a ridiculously small 
corpse to so large a crowd.” 

The Author, although he trusts that the present 
production has more vitality than the Greek gentle- 
man’s child, still feels that in these days of philo- 
sophical fiction, metaphysical romance, and novels 
with a purpose, some apology may perhaps he needed 
for a tale which has the unambitious and frivolous 
aim of mere amusement. 

However, he ventures to leave the tale to be its 
own apology, merely contenting himself with the en- 
treaty that his little fish may be spared the rebuke 
that it is not a whale. 

In submitting it with all possible respect to the 
Public, he conceives that no form of words he could 
devise would appeal so simply and powerfully to their 


4 


PREFACE. 


feelings as that which he has ventured to adopt from 
a certain Anglo-Portuguese Phrase-Book of deserved 
popularity. 

Like the compilers of that work, he — ‘^expects 
then who the little book, for the care what he wrote 
him and her typographical corrections, will commend 
itself to the — British Paterfamilias — at which he dedi- 
cates him particularly.” 


OONTEITTS. 


CHAPTEE page 

I. — Black Monday '7 

II. — A Grand Transformation Scene . . . , 22 

III. — In the Toils 41 

rV. — A Minnow among Tritons 61 

V. — Disgrace 87 

; YI. — Learning and Accomplishments .... 109 

^ YII. — Cutting the Knot 129 

, YIIL — Unbending the Bow 148 

f IX. — A Letter from Home 164 

^ X. — The Complete Letter-writer . . . . 180 

XI. — A Day of Best 191 

XII. — Against Time 208 

XIII. — A Respite 228 

XIV. — An Error of Judgment 240 

XY. — The Rubicon 264 

XYI. — Hard Pressed 271 

XYII. — A Perfidious Ally 294 

XVIII. — Run to Earth 315 

XIX. — The Reckoning . 329 


VICE VERSA 


CHAPTER I. 

BLACK MONDAY. 

“ In England, where boys go to boarding-schools, if the holidays were 
not long there would be no opportunity for cultivating the domestic 
affections .” — Letter of Lord CampbelVs^ 1835. 

a certain Monday evening late in January, 1881, 
Paul Bultitude, Esq. (of Mincing Lane, Colonial Prod- 
uce Merchant), was sitting alone in his dining-room at 
West bourne Terrace after dinner. 

The room was a long and lofty one, furnished in the 
stern, uncompromising style of the mahogany age, now 
supplanted by the later fashions of decorations which, 
in their outset original and artistic, seem fairly on the 
way to become as meaningless and conventional. 

Here were no skillfully contrasted shades of gray or 
green, no dado, no distemper on the walls ; the wood- 
work was grained and varnished after the manner of 
the Philistines, the walls papered in dark crimson, with 
heavy curtains of the same color, and the sideboard, 
dinner-wagon, and row of stiff chairs were all carved 
in the same massive and expensive style of ugliness. 
The pictures were those familiar presentments of dirty 


8 


VICE VERSA. 


rabbis, fat white horses, bloated goddesses, and mis- 
shapen boors, by masters who, if younger than they 
assume to be, must have been quite old enough to know 
better. 

Mr. Bultitude was a tall and portly person, of a 
somewhat pompous and overbearing demeanor ; not 
much over fifty, but looking considerably older. He 
had a high shining head, from which the hair had 
mostly departed, what little still remained being of a 
grizzled auburn, prominent pale-blue eyes with heavy 
eyelids and fierce, bushy whity-brown eyebrows. His 
general expression suggested a conviction of his own 
extreme importance, but, in spite of this, his big under- 
lip drooped rather weakly and his double chin slightly 
receded, giving a judge of character reason for sus- 
pecting that a certain obstinate positiveness observ- 
able in Mr. Bultitude’s manner might possibly be due 
less to the possession of an unusually strong will 
than to the circumstance that, by some fortunate chance, 
that will had hitherto never met with serious opposi- 
tion. 

The room, with all its aesthetic shortcomings, was 
comfortable enough, and Mr. Bultitude’s attitude — he 
was lying back in a well- wadded leather arm-chair, with 
a glass of claret at his elbow and his feet stretched out 
toward the ruddy blaze of the fire — seemed at first sight 
to imply that happy after-dinner condition of perfect 
satisfaction with one’s self and things in general which 
is the natural outcome of a good cook, a good con- 
science, and a good digestion. 

At first sight ; because his face did not confirm the 
impression — ^there was a latent uneasiness in it, an air of 
suppressed irritation, as if he expected and even dreaded 


BLACK MONDAY. 9 

to be disturbed at any moment, and yet was powerless 
to resent the intrusion as he would like to do. 

At the slightest sound in the hall outside he would 
half rise in his chair and glance at the door with a mix- 
ture of alarm and resignation, and as often as the steps 
died away and the door remained closed he would sink 
back and resettle himself with a shrug of evident relief. 

Habitual novel readers on reading thus far will, I 
am afraid, prepare themselves for the arrival of a faith- 
ful cashier with news of irretrievable ruin, or a mysteri- 
ous and cynical stranger threatening disclosures of a 
disgraceful nature. 

But all such anticipations must at once be ruthlessly 
dispelled. Mr. Bultitude, although he was certainly a 
merchant, was a fairly successful one — in direct defiance 
of the laws of fiction, where any connection with com- 
merce seems to lead naturally to failure in one of the 
three volumes. 

He was an old gentleman, too, of irreproachable 
character and antecedents. 

Ho Damocles’s sword of exposure was swinging over 
his bald but blameless head ; he had no disasters to 
fear and no indiscretions to conceal. He had not been 
intended for melodrama, which, indeed, he would not 
have considered a respectable thing to be connected 
with. 

In fact, the secret of his uneasiness was so absurdly 
simple and commonplace that I am rather ashamed to 
have made even a temporary mystery of it. 

His son Dick was about to return to school that 
evening, and Mr. Bultitude was expecting every moment 
to be called upon to go through a parting scene with 
him ; that was really all that was troubling him. 


10 


VICE VERSA. 


This sounds very creditable to the tenderness of his 
feelings as a father — for there are some parents who 
bear such a bereavement at the close of the holidays 
with extraordinary fortitude, if they do not actually 
betray an unnatural satisfaction at the event. 

But it was not exactly from softness of heart that 
he was restless and impatient, nor did he dread any 
severe strain upon his emotions. He was not much 
given to sentiment, and was the author of more than 
one of those pathetically indignant letters to the paj)ers, 
in which the British parent denounces the expenses of 
education and the unconscionable length and frequency 
of vacations. 

He was one of those nervous and fidgety persons 
who can not understand their own children, looking on 
them as objectionable monsters whose next movements 
are uncertain — much as Frankenstein must have felt 
toward his monster. 

He hated to have a boy about the house, and posi- 
tively writhed under the irrelevant and irrepressible 
questions, the unnecessary noises and boisterous high 
spirits, which nothing would subdue ; his son’s society 
was to hiiib simply an abominable nuisance, and he pined 
and yearned for a release from it from the day the holi- 
days ^egan. 

He had been a widower for some years, and no doubt 
the loss of a mother’s loving tact, which can check the 
heedless merriment before it becomes intolerable, and 
interpret and soften the most peevish and unreasonable 
of rebukes, had done much to make the relations be- 
tween parent and children more strained than they 
might otherwise have been. 

As it was, Dick’s fear of his father was just great 


BLACK MONDAY. 


11 


enough to prevent any cordiality between them, and 
not sufficient to make him careful to avoid offense, and 
it is not surprising if, when the time came for him to 
return to his house of bondage at Dr. Grimstone’s, 
Crichton House, Rodwell Regis, he left his father any- 
thing but inconsolable. 

Just now, although Mr. Bultitude was so near the 
hour of his deliverance, he still had a bad quarter of an 
hour before him, in which the last farewells must be 
said, and he found it impossible under these circum- 
stances to compose himself for a quiet half hour’s nap, 
or retire to the billiard room for a cup of coffee and a 
mild cigar, as he would otherwise have done — since he 
was certain to be disturbed. 

And there was another thing which harrassed him, 
and that was a haunting dread lest at the last moment 
some unforeseen accident should prevent the boy’s de- 
parture after all. He had some grounds for this, for 
only a week before a sudden and unprecedented snow- 
storm had dashed his hopes, on the eve of their fulfill- 
ment, by forcing the doctor to postpone the day on 
which the school was to reassemble, and now Paul sat 
on brambles until he had seen the house definitely rid 
of his son’s presence. 

All this time, while the father was fretting and 
fuming ill his arm-chair, the son, the unlucky cause of 
all this discomfort, had been standing on the mat out- 
side the door, trying to screw up enough courage to go 
in as if nothing was the matter with him. 

He was not looking particularly boisterous just then. 
On the contrary, his face was pale, and his eyes rather 
redder than he would quite care for them to be seen by 
any of the fellows ” at Crichton House. All the life 


12 


VICE VERSA. 


and spirit had gone out of him for the time ; he had a 
troublesome dryness in his throat, and a general sensa- 
tion of chill-heaviness, which he himself would have 
described — expressively enough, if not with academical 
elegance — as “ feeling beastly.” 

The stoutest hearted boy, returning to the most per- 
fect of schools, can not always escape something of this 
at that dark hour when the sands of the holidays have 
run out to their last golden grain, when the boxes are 
standing corded and labeled in the passage, and some 
one is going to fetch the fatal cab. 

Dick had just gone the round of the house, bidding 
dreary farewells to all the servants ; an unpleasant or- 
deal which he would gladly have dispensed with, if pos- 
sible, and which did not serve to raise his spirits. 

Upstairs, in the bright nursery, he had found his old 
nurse sitting sewing by the high wire fender. She was 
a stern, hard-featured old lady, who had systematically 
slapped him through infancy into boyhood, and he had 
had some stormy passages with her during the past few 
weeks ; but she softened now in the most unexpected 
manner as she said good-by, and told him he was a 
‘‘pleasant, good-hearted young gentleman, after all, 
though that aggravating and contrairy sometimes.” 
And then she predicted, with some of the rashness at- 
taching to irresponsibility, that he would be “ the best 
boy this next term as ever was, and work hard at all 
his lessons, and bring home a prize ” — but all this un- 
usual gentleness only made the interview more difficult 
to come out of with any credit for self-control. 

Then downstairs, the cook had come up in her even- 
ing brown print and clean collar, from her warm, spice- 
scented kitchen to remark cheerily that “ Lor’ bless his 


BLACK MONDAY. 


13 


heart, what with all these telegrafts and things, time 
flew so fast now-a-days that they’d he having him hack 
again before they all knew where they were ! ” 

And this had a certain spurious consolation about it, 
until one saw that, after all, it put the case entirely 
from her own stand-point. 

After this Dick had parted from his elder sister Bar- 
bara and his young brother Roly, and had arrived where 
we found him first, at the mat outside the dining-room 
door, where he still lingered, shivering, in the cold, 
foggy hall. 

Somehow he could not bring himself to take the 
next step at once ; he knew pretty well what his fath- 
er’s feelings would be, and a parting is a very unpleas- 
ant ceremony to one v/ho feels that the regret is all on 
his own side. 

But it was no use putting it off any longer ; he re- 
solved at last to go in and get it over, and opened the 
door accordingly. How warm and comfortable the 
room looked — more comfortable than it had ever seemed 
to him before, even on the first day of the holidays ! 

And his father would be sitting there in a quarter of 
an hour’s time, just as he was now, while he himself 
would be lumbering along to the station through the 
dismal, raw fog ! 

How unspeakably delightful it must be, thought 
Dick enviously, to be grown up and never worried by 
the thoughts of school and lesson-books ; to be able to 
look forward to returning to the same comfortable 
house, and living the same easy life, day after day, 
week after week, with no fear of a swiftly advancing 
Black Monday. 

Gloomy moralists might have informed him that we 


14 


VICE VERSl. 


can not escape school by simply growing up, and that, 
even for those who contrive this and make a long holi- 
day of their lives, there comes a time when the days 
are grudgingly counted to a blacker Monday than ever 
makes a schoolboy’s heart quake within him. 

But then Dick would never have believed them, and 
the moralists would only have wasted much excellent 
common sense upon him. 

Paul Bultitude’s face cleared as he saw his son come 
in. ‘‘ There you are, eh ! ” he said, with evident satis- 
faction, as he turned in his chair, intending to cut the 
scene as short as possible. So you’re off at last ? 
Well, holidays can’t last for ever — by a merciful decree 
of Providence, they don’t last quite for ever ! There, 
good-by, good-by, be a good boy this term, no more 
scrapes, mind. And now you’d better run away, and 
put on your coat — you’re keeping the cab waiting all 
this time.” 

‘‘No, Pm not,” said Dick, “Boaler hasn’t gone to 
fetch one yet.” 

“ Not gone to fetch a cab yet ! ” cried Paul, with 
evident alarm, “v/hy, God bless my soul, what’s the 
man thinking about ? You’ll lose your train ! I know 
you’ll lose the train, and there will be another day lost, 
after the extra week gone already through that snow ! 
I must see to this myself. Ring the bell, tell Boaler to 
start this instant — I insist on his fetching a cab this in- 
stant ! ” 

“Well, it’s not my fault, you know,” grumbled 
Dick, not considering so much anxiety at all flattering ; 
‘‘but Boaler has gone now. I just heard the gate 
clang.” 

“ Ah ! ” said his father, with more composure, “ and 


BLACK MONDAY. 


15 


now,” he suggested, “ you’d better shake hands, and 
then go up and say good-by to your sister — you’ve no 
time to spare.” 

“ I’ve said good-by to them,” said Dick. “ Mayn’t 
I stay here till — till Boaler comes ? ” 

This request was due less to filial affection than a 
faint desire for dessert, which even his feelings could 
not altogether stifle. Mr. Bultitude granted it with a 
very bad grace. 

“ I suppose you can if you want to,” he said impa- 
tiently ; “ only do one thing or the other — stay outside, 
or shut the door and come in, and sit down quietly. I 
can not sit in a thorough draught ! ” 

Dick obeyed, and applied himself to the dessert with 
rather an injured expression. 

Paul felt a greater sense of constraint and worry 
than ever ; the interview, as he had feared, seemed 
likely to last some time, and he felt that he ought to 
improve the occasion in some way, or, at all events, 
make some observation. But, for all that, he had not 
the remotest idea what to say to this red-haired, solemn 
boy, who sat staring gloomily at him in the intervals of 
filling his mouth. The situation grew more embarrass- 
ing every moment. 

At last, as he felt himself likely to have more to say 
in reproof than on any other subject, he began with 
that. 

‘‘ There’s one thing I want to talk to you about be- 
fore you go,” he began, “ and that’s this. I had a most 
unsatisfactory report of you this last term ; don’t let me 
have that again. Dr. Grimstone tells me — ah, I have 
his letter here — yes, he says (and just attend, instead of 
making yourself ill with preserved ginger) — he says, 


16 


VICE VERSl. 


‘Your son has great natural capacity, and excellent 
abilities ; but I regret to say that, instead of applying 
himself as he might do, he misuses his advantages, and 
succeeds in setting a mischievous example to — if not 
actually misleading — his companions.’ That’s a pleasant 
account for a father to read ! Here am I, sending you 
to an expensive school, furnishing you with great nat- 
ural capacity and excellent abilities, and — and — every 
other school requisite, and all you do is to misuse them ! 
It’s disgraceful ! And misleading your companions, 
too ! Why, at your age, they ought to mislead you — 
No, I don’t mean that — ^but what I may tell you is, that 
I’ve written a very strong letter to Hr. Grimstone, say- 
ing what pain it gave me to hear you misbehaved your- 
self ; and telling him, if he ever caught you setting an 
example of any sort, mind that, any sort, in the future 
— he was to, ah, to remember some of Solomon’s very 
sensible remarks on the subject. So I should strongly 
advise you to take care what you’re about in future, for 
your own sake ! ” 

This was not a very encouraging address, perhaps, 
but it did not seem to distress Hick to any extent ; he 
had heard very much the same sort of thing several 
times before, and had been fully prepared for it then. 

He had been seeking distraction in almonds and 
raisins, but now they only choked instead of consoling 
him, and he gave them up and sat brooding silently over 
his hard lot instead, with a dull, blank dejection which 
those only who have gone through the same thing in 
their boyhood will understand. To others, whose school 
life has been one uncheckered course of excitement and 
success, it will be incomprehensible enough — and so 
much the better for them. 


BLACK MONDAY. 


17 


He sat listening to the grim sphinx-clock on the 
black-marble chimneypiece, as it remorselessly ticked 
away his last few moments of home-life, and he ingen- 
iously set himself to crown his sorrow by reviving recol- 
lections of happier days. 

In one of the corners of the chimneyglass there was 
still a sprig of withered laurel left forgotten, and his 
eye fell on it now with a grim satisfaction. He made 
his thoughts travel back to that delightful afternoon on 
Christmas Eve, when they had all come home riotous 
through the brilliant streets, laden with purchases from 
the Baker Street Bazaar, and then had decorated the 
rooms with such free and careless gayety. 

And the Christmas dinner, too! He had sat just 
where he was sitting now, with, ah! such a difference in 
every other respect — the time had not come then when 
the thought of only so many more weeks and days left ” 
had begun to intrude its grizzly shape, like the skull at 
an ancient feast. 

And yet he could distinctly recollect now, and with 
bitter remorse, that he had not enjoyed himself then as 
much as he ought to have done ; he even remembered 
an impious opinion of his that the proceedings were 
“ slow.” Slow! with plenty to eat, and three (four, if 
he had only known it) more weeks of holiday before 
him ; with Boxing Bay, and the brisk, exhilarating 
drive to the Crystal Palace immediately following, with 
all the rest of a season of license and varied joys to 
come, which he could hardly trust himself to look back 
upon now! He must have been mad to think such a 
thing. 

Overhead, his sister Barbara was playing softly one 
of the airs from “ The Pirates ” (it was Frederic’s ap- 


18 


VICE VERSl. 


peal to the Major-General’s daughters), and the music, 
freed from the serio-comic situation which it illustrates, 
had a tenderness and pathos of its own which went to 
Dick’s heart and intensified his melancholy! 

He had gone (in secret, for Mr. Bultitude disap- 
proved of such dissipations) to hear the opera in the 
holidays, and now the piano conjured the whole scene 
up for him again — there would be no more theatre-going 
for him for a very long time! 

By this time Mr. Bultitude began to feel the silence 
becoming once more oppressive, and roused himself 
with a yawn. Heigho! ” he said, Boaler’s an uncom- 
monly long time fetching that cab! ” 

Dick felt more injured than ever, and showed it by 
drawing what he intended for a moving sigh. 

Unfortunately it was misunderstood. 

I do wish, sir,” said Paul, testily, “ you would try 
to break yourself of that habit of breathing hard. The 
society of a grampus (for it’s no less) delights no one 
and offends many — including me — and for heaven’s 
sake, Dick, don’t kick the leg of the table in that way ; 
you know it simply maddens me. What do you do it 
for ? Why can’t you learn to sit at table like a gentle- 
man ? ” 

Dick mumbled some apology, and then, having found 
his tongue and remembered his necessities, said, with a 
nervous catch in his voice, “ Oh, I say, papa, will you — 
can you let me have some pocket-money, please, to go 
back with ? ” 

Paul looked as if his son had petitioned for a latch- 
key. 

“ Pocket-money ! ” he repeated, why, you can’t 
want money. Didn’t your grandmother give you a 


BLACK MONDAY. 


19 


sovereign as a Christmas-box? And I gave you ten 
shillings myself ! ’’ 

I do want it, though,” said Dick ; “ that’s all spent. 
And you know you always have given me money to take 
hack.” 

“ If I do give you some, you’ll only go and spend it,” 
grumbled Mr. Bultitude, as if he considered money an 
object of art. 

“ I shan’t spend it all at once, and I shall want some 
to put in the plate on Sundays. We always have to put 
in the plate when it’s a collection. And there’s the cab 
to pay.” 

‘‘ Boaler has orders to pay your cab — as you know 
well enough,” said Paul, “ but I suppose you must have 
some, though you cost me enough, heaven knows, with- 
out this additional expense.” 

And at this he brought up a fistful of loose silver 
and gold from one of his trouser-pockets, and spread it de- 
liberately out on the table in front of him in shining rows. 

Dick’s eyes sparkled at the sight of so much wealth ; 
for a moment or two he almost forgot the pangs of ap- 
proaching exile in the thought of the dignity and credit 
which a single one of those bright new sovereigns would 
procure for him. 

It would insure him surreptitious luxuries and open 
friendships as long as it lasted. Even Tipping, the head 
boy of the school, who had gone into tails, brought back 
no more, and besides, the money would bring him hand- 
somely out of certain pecuniary difficulties to which an 
unexpected act of parental authority had exposed him ; 
he could easily dispose of all claims with such a sum at 
command, and then his father could so easily spare it 
out of so much ! 


20 


VICE VERSl. 


Meanwhile Mr. Bultitude, with great care and pre- 
cision, selected from the coins before him a florin, two 
shillings, and two sixpences, which he pushed across to 
his son, who looked at them with a disappointment he 
did not care to conceal. 

“ An uncommonly liberal allowance for a young fel- 
low like you,” Paul observed. “ Don’t buy any foolish- 
ness with it, and if, toward the end of the term, you 
want a little more, and write an intelligible letter ask- 
ing for it, and I think proper to let you have it — why, 
you’ll get it, you know.” 

Dick had not courage to ask for more, much as he 
longed to do so, so he put the money in his purse with 
very qualified expressions of gratitude. 

In his purse he seemed to find something which had 
escaped his memory, for he took out a small parcel and 
unfolded it with some hesitation. 

“ I nearly forgot,” he said, speaking with more ani- 
mation than he had yet done, ‘‘ I didn’t like to take it 
without asking you, but is this any use ? May I haveit ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” said Paul, sharply, what’s that ? Some- 
thing else — what is it you want now ? ” 

‘‘ It’s only that stone Uncle Duke brought mamma 
from India ; the thing, he said, they called a ‘Pagoda 
stone,’ or something, out there.” 

“ Pagoda stone ? The boy means Garuda stone. I 
should like to know how you got hold of that ; you’ve 
been meddling in my drawers, now, a thing I will not 
put up with, as I’ve told you over and over again.” 

“Uo, I haven’t then,” said Dick; “I found it in a 
tray in the drawing-room, and Barbara said, perhaps, if 
I asked you, you might let me have it, as she didn’t 
think it was any use to you.” 


BLACK MONDAY. 


21 


Then Barbara had no right to say anything of the 
sort,” snapped Paul. 

“ But may I have it ? I may, mayn’t I ? ” persisted 
Dick. 

Have it ? certainly not. What could you possibly 
want with a thing like that ? It’s ridiculous. Give it 
to me.” 

Dick handed it over reluctantly enough. It was not 
much to look at, quite an insignificant-looking little 
square tablet of grayish-green stone, pierced at one 
angle, and having on two of its faces faint traces of 
mysterious letters or symbols, which time had made 
very difficult to distinguish. 

It looked harmless enough as Mr. Bultitude took it 
in his hand ; there was no kindly hand to hold him 
back, no warning voice to hint that there might possi- 
bly be sleeping within that small marble block the pent- 
up energy of long-forgotten Eastern necromancy, just 
as ready as ever to awake into action at the first words 
which had power to evoke it. 

There was no one ; but, even if there had been such 
a person, Paul was a sober, prosaic individual, who 
would probably have treated the warning as a piece of 
ridiculous superstition. 

As it was, no man could have put himself in a po- 
sition of extreme peril with a more perfect unconscious- 
ness of his danger. 


CHAPTER II. 


A GEAKD TEANSFORMATION SCENE. 

“Magnaquo numinibus vota exaudita malignis.” 

Me. Bultittjde put on his glasses to examine the 
stone more carefully, for it was some time since he had 
last seen or thought about it. Then he looked up and 
said once more, What use would a thing like this be 
to you ? ” 

Dick would have considered it a very valuable prize 
indeed ; he could have exhibited it to admiring friends 
— during lessons, of course, when it would prove a most 
agreeable distraction — he could have played with and 
fingered it incessantly ; invented astonishing legends of 
its powers and virtues ; and, at last, when he had grown 
tired of it, have bartered it for any more desirable arti- 
cle that might take his fancy. All these advantages 
were present to his mind in a vague, shifting form, but 
he could not find either courage or words to explain 
them. 

Consequently, he only said awkwardly. “ Oh, I don’t 
know, I should like it.” 

“Well, any way,” said Paul, “you certainly won’t 
have it. It’s worth keeping, whatever it is, as the only 
thing your uncle Marmaduke was ever known to give 
to anybody.” 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


23 


Marmaduke Paradine, Mr. Bultitude’s brother-in- 
law, was not a connection of which he had much reason 
to feel particularly proud. One of those persons en- 
dowed with what are known as “ insinuating manners 
and address,” he had, after some futile attempts to enter 
the army, been sent out to Bombay as agent for a Man- 
chester firm, and in that capacity had contrived to be 
mixed up in some more than shady transactions with 
rival exporters and native dealers up the country, which 
led to an unceremonious dismissal by his employers. 

He had brought home the stone from India as a pro- 
pitiatory token of remembrance, more portable and less 
expensive than the lacquered cabinets, brasses, stuffs, 
and carved work which are expected from friends at 
such a distance, and he had been received with pardon 
and started once more, until certain other proceedings 
of his, shadier still, had obliged Paul to forbid him the 
house at Westbourne Terrace. 

Since then little had been heard of him, and the re- 
ports which reached Mr. Bultitude of his disreputable 
relative’s connection with the promotion of a series of 
companies of the kind affected by the vfidow and curate, 
and exposed in money articles and law courts, gave him 
no desire to renew his acquaintance. 

‘‘ Isn’t it a talisman, though ? ” said Dick, rather 
unfortunately for any hopes he might have of persuad- 
ing his father to entrust him with the coveted treasure. 

“ I’m sure I can’t tell you,” yawned Paul ; “ how do 
you mean ? ” 

“ I don’t know, only Uncle Duke once said some- 
thing about it. Barbara heard him tell mamma. I say 
perhaps it’s like the one in Scott, and cures people of 
things, though I don’t think it’s that sort of talisman 


24 


VICE YEESA. 


either, because I tried it once on my chilblains, and it 
wasn’t a bit of good. If you would only let me have 
it, perhaps I might find out, you know.” 

‘‘You might,” said his father dryly, apparently not 
much influenced by this inducement, “but you won’t 
have the chance. If it has a secret, I will find it out 
for myself (he little knew how literally he was to be 
taken at his word), and, by the way, there’s your cab — 
at last ! ” 

There was a sound of wheels outside, and, as Dick 
heard them, he grew desperate in his extremity ; a wish 
he had long secretly cherished unspoken, without ever 
hoping for courage to give it words, rose to his lips 
now ; he got up and moved timidly toward his father. 

“ Papa,” he said, “ there’s something I want to say 
to you so much before I go. Do let me ask you now.” 

“Well, what is it?” said Paul. “Make haste, you 
haven’t much time.” 

“ It’s this. I want you to — to let me leave Grim- 
stone’s at the end of the term.” 

Paul stared at him, angry and incredulous. “Let 
you leave Dr. Grimstone’s (oblige me by giving him 
his full title when you speak of him), “ he said slowly. 
“ Why, what do you mean ? It’s an excellent school — 
never saw a better expressed prospectus in my life. 
And my old friend Bangle, Sir Benjamin Bangle, who’s 
a member of the School Board, and ought to know 
something about schools, strongly recommended it — 
would have sent his own son there, if he hadn’t entered 
him at Eton. And when I pay for most of the extras 
for you, too. Dancing, by Gad, and meat for breakfast. 
I’m sure I don’t know what you would have ! ” 

“ I’d like to go to Marlborough, or Harrow, or some- 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


25 


where,” whimpered Dick ; Jolland’s going to Harrow 
at Easter. (Jolland’s one of the fellows at Grimstone’s 
— Dr. Grimstone’s, I mean.) And what does old Ban- 
gle know about it ? He hasn’t got to go there himself ! 
And — and Grimstone’s jolly enough to fellows he likes, 
but he doesn’t like me — he’s always sitting on me for 
something — and I hate some of the fellows there, and 
altogether it’s beastly. Do let me leave ! If you don’t 
want me to go to a public school, I— I could stop at 
home and have a private tutor — like Joe Twitterly ! ” 

“ It’s all ridiculous nonsense, I tell you,” said Paul 
angrily, ridiculous nonsense ! And, once for all. I’ll 
put a stop to it. I don’t approve of public schools for 
boys like you, and, what’s more, I can’t afford it. As 
for private tutors, that’s absurd ! So you will just 
make up your mind to stay at Crichton House as long 
as I think proper to keep you there, and there’s an end 
of that ! ” 

At this final blow to all his hopes, Dick began to 
sob in a subdued, hopeless kind of a way, which was 
more than his father could bear. To do Paul justice, 
he had not meant to be quite so harsh when the boy 
was about to set out for school, and, a little ashamed of 
his irritation, he sought to justify his decision. 

He chose to do this by delivering a short homily on 
the advantages of school, by which he might lead Dick 
to look on the matter in the calm light of reason and 
common sense, and commonplaces on the subject began 
to rise to the surface of his mind, from the rather 
muddy depths to which they had long since sunk. 

He began to give Dick the benefit of all this stag- 
nant wisdom, with a feeling of surprise, as he went on, 
at his own powerful and original way of putting things. 

2 


26 


VICE VERSl. 


‘‘ Now, you know, it’s no use to cry like that,” he 
began. “ It’s — ah, the usual thing for boys at school, 
I’m quite aware, to go about fancying they’re very ill- 
used, and miserable, and all the rest of it, just as if 
people in my position had their sons educated out of 
spite ! It’s one of those petty troubles all boys have to 
go through. And you mark my words, my boy, when 
they go out into the world, and have real trials to put 
up with, and grow old men, like me, why, they see what 
fools they’ve been, Dick ; they see what fools they’ve 
been. All the — hum, the innocent games and delights 
of boyhood, and that sort of thing, you know — come 
back to them — and then they look back to those hours 
passed at school as the happiest, ay, the very happiest 
time of their life ! ” 

“Well,” said Dick, “then I hope it won’t be the 
happiest time in mine, that’s all ! And you may have 
been happy at the school you went to, perhaps, but I 
don’t believe you would very much care about being a 
boy again like me, and going back to Grimstone’s ; you 
know you wouldn’t ! ” 

This put Paul on his mettle ; he had warmed well 
to his subject, and could not let this open challenge pass 
unnoticed — it gave him such an opening for a cheap 
and easy effect. 

He sank back into his chair and put the tips of his 
fingers together, smiling with a tolerant superiority. 

“Perhaps you will believe me,” he said impressively, 
“ when I tell you, old as I am and much as you envy 
me, I only wish, at this very moment, I could be a boy 
again, like you. Going back to school wouldn’t make 
me unhappy, I can tell you.” 

It is so fatally easy to say more than we mean in the 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


27 


desire to make as strong an impression as possible. 
Well for most of us that — more fortunate than Mr. Bul- 
titude — we can generally do so without fear of being 
taken too strictly at our word. 

As he spoke these unlucky words, he felt a slight 
shiver, followed by a curious shrinking sensation all 
over him. It was odd, too, but the arm-chair in which 
he sat seemed to have grown so much bigger all at once. 
He felt a passing surprise, but concluded it must be 
fancy, and went on as comfortably as before. 

“I should like it, my boy, but what’s the good of 
wishing ? I only mention it to prove that I was not 
speaking at random. I’m an old man and you’re a 
young boy, and, that being so, why, of course — What 
the deuce are you giggling about ? ” 

For Dick, after some seconds of half-frightened, 
open-mouthed staring, had suddenly burst into a violent 
fit of almost hysterical giggling, which he seemed try- 
ing vainly to suppress. 

This naturally annoyed Mr. Bultitude, and he went 
on with immense dignity, “I, ah, I’m not aware that 
I’ve been saying anything particularly ridiculous. You 
seem to be amused ? ” 

Dont ! ” gasped Dick. ‘‘ It — it isn’t anything you’re 
saying — it’s, it’s — oh, can’t you feel any difference ? ” 
The sooner you go back to school the better ! ” 
said Paul, angrily. “ I wash my hands of you. When 
I do take the trouble to give you any advice, it’s re- 
ceived with ridicule. You always were an ill-mannered 
little cub. I’ve had quite enough of this. Leave the 
room, sir ! ” 

The wheels must have belonged to some other cab, 
for none had stopped at the pavement as yet ; but Mr. 


28 


VICE VERSl. 


Bultitude was justly indignant and could stand tlie in- 
terview no longer. Dick, however, made no attempt to 
move ; he remained there, choking and shaking with 
laughter, while his father sat stiffly on his chair, trying 
to ignore his son’s unmannerly conduct, but only par- 
tially succeeding. 

No one can calmly endure watching other people 
laughing at him like idiots, while he is left perfectly in- 
capable of guessing what he has said or done to amuse 
them. Even when this is known, it requires a peculi- 
arly keen sense of humor to see the point of a joke 
against one’s self. 

At last his patience gave out, and he said, coldly, 
‘‘Now, perhaps, if you are quite yourself again, you 
will be good enough to let me know what the joke is ? ” 

Dick, looking flushed and half ashamed, tried again 
and again to speak, but each time the attempt was too 
much for him. After a time he did succeed, but hi^ 
voice was hoarse and shaken with laughter as he spoke. 
“ Haven’t you found it out yet ? Go and look at your- 
self in the glass — it will make you roar ! ” 

There was the usual narrow sheet of plate glass at 
the back of the sideboard, and to this Mr. Bultitude 
walked, almost under protest, and with a cold dignity. 
It occurred to him that he might have a smudge on his 
face or something wrong with his collar and tie — some- 
thing to account to some extent for his son’s frivolous 
and insulting behavior. No suspicion of the terrible 
truth crossed his mind as yet. 

Meanwhile Dick was looking on eagerly with a 
chuckle of anticipation, as one who watches the dawn- 
ing appreciation of an excellent joke. 

But no sooner had Paul met the reflection in the 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


29 


glass than he started back in incredulous horror — then 
returned, and stared again and again. 

Surely, surely, this could not be he ! 

He had expected to see his own familiar portly bow- 
windowed presence there — but somehow, look as he 
would, the mirror insisted upon reflecting the figure of 
his son Dick. Could he possibly have become invisible 
and have lost the power of casting a reflection — or how 
was it that Dick, and only Dick, was to be seen there ? 

How was it, too, when he looked round, there was 
the boy still sitting there. It could not be Dick, evi- 
dently, that he saw in the glass. Besides, the reflection 
opposite him moved when he moved, returned when he 
returned, copied his every gesture ! 

He turned round upon his son with angry and yet 
hopeful suspicion. “ You, you’ve been playing some of 
your infernal tricks with this mirror, sir,” he cried, 
fiercely. ‘‘ What have you done to it ? ” 

‘‘ Done ! how could I do anything to it ? As if you 
didn’t know that ! ” 

‘‘ Then,” stammered Paul, determined to know the 
worst, “ then do you, do you mean to tell me you can 
see any — alteration in me ? Tell me the truth now ! ” 
‘‘I should just think I could ! ” said Dick, emphatic- 
ally. “It’s very queer, but* just look here,” and he 
came up to the sideboard and placed himself by the 
side of his horrified father. “ Why,” he said, with an- 
other giggle, “ we’re — he-he — as like as two peas ! ” 
They were indeed ; the glass reflected now two small 
boys, each with chubby cheeks and fair hair, both 
dressed, too, exactly alike, in Eton jackets and broad 
white collars ; the only difference to be seen between 
them was that, while one face wore an expression of 


30 


VICE YERSl. 


intense glee and satisfaction, the other — ^the one which 
Mr. Bultitude was beginning to fear must belong to 
him — was lengthened and drawn with dismay and be- 
wilderment. 

‘‘ Dick,” said Paul, faintly, ‘‘ what is all this ? Who 
has been, been taking these liberties with me ? ” 

“Pm sure I don’t know,” protested Dick. “It 
wasn’t me. I believe you did it all yourself.” 

“ Did it all myself ! ” repeated Paul, indignantly. 
“ Is it likely I should ? It’s some trickery, I tell you, 
some villainous plot. The worst of it is,” he added 
plaintively, “ I don’t understand who I’m supposed to 
be now. Dick, who am I ? ” 

“You can’t be me,” said Dick, authoritatively, “be- 
cause here I am, you know. And you’re not yourself, 
that’s very plain. You must be somebody, I suppose,” 
he added, dubiously. 

“ Of course I am. What do you mean ? ” said Paul, 
angrily. “Clever mind who I am. I feel just the same 
as I always did. Tell me when you first began to no- 
tice any change. Could you see it coming on at all, eh ? ” 

“It was all at once, just as you were talking about 
school and all that. You said you only wished — 
Why, of course ; look here, it must be the stone that 
did it ! ” 

“ Stone ! what stone ? ” said Paul. “ I don’t know 
what you’re talking about.” 

“Yes, you do — the Garuda stone ! You’ve got it in 
your hand still. Don’t you see ? It’s a real talisman, 
after all ! How jolly ! ” 

“ I didn’t do anything to set it off ; and besides, oh, 
it’s perfectly absurd ! How can there be such things as 
talismans nowadays, eh ? Tell me that.” 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


31 


“Well, something’s happened to you, hasn’t it? 
And it must have been done somehow,” argued Dick, 
“I was holding the confounded thing, certainly,” 
said Paul ; “here it is. But what could I have said to 
start it ? What has it done this to me for ? ” 

“ I know,” cried Dick. “ Don’t you remember ? 
You said you wished you were a boy again, like me. 
So you are, you see, exactly like me ! What a lark it 
is, isn’t it ? But, I say, you can’t go up to business like 
that, you know, can you ? I tell you what, you’d bet- 
ter come to Grimstone’s with me now, and see how you 
like it. I shouldn’t mind so much if you came too. 
Grimstone’s face would be splendid when he saw two 
of us. Do come ! ” 

“That’s ridiculous nonsense you’re talking,” said 
Paul, “and you know it. What should I do at school 
at my age ? I tell you Pm the same as ever inside, 
though I may have shrunk into a miserable little ras- 
cally boy to look at. And it’s simply an abominable 
nuisance, Dick, that’s what it is ! Why on earth couldn’t 
you let the stone alone ? Just see what mischief you’ve 
done by meddling now — ^put me to all this inconveni- 
ence ! ” 

“ You shouldn’t have wished,” said Dick. 

“ Wished ! ” echoed Mr. Bultitude. “ Why, to be 
sure,” he said, with a gleam of returning hopefulness ; 
“of course, I never thought of that. The thing’s a 
wishing- stone ; it must be ! You have to hold it, I 
suppose, and then say what you wish aloud, and there 
you are. If that’s the case, I can soon put it all right 
by simply wishing myself back again. I, I shall have 
a good laugh at all this by-and-by — I know I shall ! ” 

He took the stone, and got into a corner by himself. 


32 


VICE VEliSA. 


where he began repeating the words, “I wish I was back 
again,” “ I wish I was the man I was five minutes ago,” 
‘‘ I wish all this had not happened,” and so on, until he 
was very exhausted and red in the face. He tried with 
the stone held in his left hand, as well as his right, sit- 
ting and standing, under all the various conditions he 
could think of, but absolutely nothing came of it ; he 
was just as exasperating] y boyish and youthful as ever 
at the end of it. 

“ I don’t like this,” he said at last, giving it up with 
a rather crestfallen air. “It seems to me that this 
diabolical invention has got out of order somehow ; I 
can’t make it work any more ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Dick, who had shown through- 
out the most unsympathetic cheerfulness, “ perhaps it’s 
one of those talismans that only give you one wish, -and 
you’ve had it, you know ? ” 

“ Then it’s all over ! ” groaned Paul. “ What the 
deuce am I to do ? What shall Ido? Suggest some- 
thing, for heaven’s sake ; don’t stand cackling there in 
that unfeeling manner. Can’t you see what a terrible 
mess I’ve got into ? Suppose — only suppose your sister 
or one of the servants were to come in, and see me like 
this ! ” 

This suggestion simply enchanted Dick. “Let’s 
have them all up,” he laughed ; “it would be such fun ! 
How they will laugh when we tell them ! ” And he 
rushed to the bell. 

“Touch that bell if you dare ! ” screamed Paul. “I 
won’t be seen in this condition by anybody ! What on 
earth could have induced that scoundrelly uncle of yours 
to bring such a horrible thing as this over I can’t imag- 
ine ! I never heard of such a situation as this in my 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


33 


life. I can’t stay like this, you know — it’s not to be 
thought of ! I — I wonder whether it would be any use 
to send over to Dr. Bustard and ask him to step in ; he 
might give me something to bring me round. But then 
the whole neighborhood would hear about it ! If I 
don’t see my way out of this soon, I shall go raving 
mad ! ” 

And he paced restlessly up and down the room with 
his brain on fire. 

All at once, as he became able to think more cohe- 
rently, there occurred to him a chance, slender and des- 
perate enough, but still a chance, of escaping even yet 
the consequences of his folly. 

He was forced to conclude that, however improbable 
and fantastic it might appear in this rationalistic age, 
there must be some hidden power in this Garud^ stone 
which had put him in his present very unpleasant posi- 
tion. It was plain too that the virtues of the talis- 
man refused to exert themselves any more at his bid- 
ding. 

But it did not follow that in another’s hands the 
spell would remain as powerless. At all events, it was an 
experiment well worth the trial, and he lost no time in 
explaining the notion to Dick, who, by the sparkle in 
his eyes and suppressed excitement in his manner, 
seemed to think there might be something it. 

‘‘I may as well try,” he said; “give it to me.” 

“ Take it, my dear boy,” said Paul, with a paternal 
air that sorely tried Dick’s recovered gravity, it con- 
trasted so absurdly with his altered appearance. “ Take 
it, and wish your poor old father himself again ! ” 

Dick took it, and held it thoughtfully for some mo- 
ments, while Paul waited in nervous impatience. “ Isn’t 


34 


VICE VEESl. 


it any use ? ” he said, dolefully, at last, as nothing hap- 
pened. 

“ I don’t know,” said Dick calmly, ‘‘ I haven’t wished 
yet.” 

“ Then do so at once,” said Paul fussily, ‘‘ do so at 
once. There’s no time to waste, every moment is of 
importance — your cab will be here directly. Although, 
although I’m altered in this ridiculous way, I hope I 
still retain my authority as a father, and as a father, by 
Gad, I expect you to obey me, sir ! ” 

Oh, all right,” said Dick, indifferently, ‘‘ you may 
keep the authority if you like.” 

“ Then do what I tell you. Can’t you see how ur- 
gent it is that a scandal like this shouldn’t get about ? 
I should be the laughing-stock of the city. Not a soul 
must ever guess that such a thing has happened. You 
must see that yourself.” 

“Yes,” said Dick, who all this time was sitting on a 
corner of the table, swinging his legs, “ I see that. It 
will be all right. I’m going to wish in a minute, and 
no one will guess there has been anything the matter.” 

“ That’s a good boy ! ” said Paul, much relieved, “ I 
know your heart is in the right place — only do make 
haste.” 

“ I suppose,” Dick asked, “ when you are yourself 
again, things would go on just as usual ? ” 

“ I— I hope so.” 

“ I mean you will go on sitting here, and I shall go 
off to Grimstone’s ? ” 

“ Of course, of course,” said Paul ; “ don’t ask so 
many questions. I’m sure you quite understand what 
has to be done, so get on. We might be found like 
this any minute.” 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


35 


“That settles it,” said Dick, “any fellow would do 
it after that.” 

“Yes, yes, hut you’re so slow about it ! ” 

“ Don’t be in a hurry,” said Dick, “ you mayn’t like 
it after all when I’ve done it.” 

“ Done what ? ” asked Mr. Bultitude, sharply, struck 
by something sinister and peculiar in the boy’s manner. 

“Well, I don’t mind telling you,” said Dick, “it’s 
fairer. You see, you wished to be a boy just like me, 
didn’t you ? ” 

“ I didn’t mean it,” protested Paul. 

“ Ah, you couldn’t expect a stone to know that ; at 
any rate, it made you into a boy like me directly. 
Now, if I wish myself a man just like you were ten 
minutes ago, before you took the stone, that will put 
things all right again, won’t it ? ” 

“ Is the boy mad ? ” cried Paul, horrified at this pro- 
posal. “ Why, why, that would be worse than ever.” 

“ I don’t see that,” objected Dick, stubbornly. “No 
one would know anything about it then.” 

“ But, you little blockhead, can’t I make you under- 
stand? It wouldn’t do at all. We should both of us 
be wrong then — each with the other’s personal appear- 
ance.” 

“ Well,” said Dick, blandly, “ I shouldn’t mind that.” 

“But I should — I mind very much. I object 
strongly to such a — such a preposterous arrangement. 
And what’s more, I won’t have it. Do you hear, I for- 
bid you to think of any such thing. Give me back that 
stone. I can’t trust you with it after this.” 

“I can’t help it,” said Dick, doggedly. “You’ve 
had your wish, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t have 
mine. I mean to have it, too.” 


86 


VICE YERSl. 


‘‘ Why, you unnatural little rascal ! ” cried the justly- 
enraged father, ‘‘ do you mean to defy me ? I tell you 
I will have that stone ! Give it up this instant ! ” and 
he made a movement toward his son, as if he meant to 
recover the talisman by main force. 

But Dick was too quick for him. Slipping off the 
table with great agility, he planted himself firmly ou 
the hearth-rug, with the hand that held the stone 
clenched behind his back, and the other raised in self- 
defense. 

“I’d much rather you wouldn’t make me hit you, 
you know,” he said, “ because, in spite of what’s hap- 
pened, you’re still my father, I suppose. But, if you 
interfere with me before I’ve done with this stone, I’m 
afraid I shall have to punch your head.” 

Mr. Bultitude retreated a few steps apprehensively, 
feeling himself no match for his son, except in size and 
general appearance ; and for some moments of really 
frightful intensity they stood panting on the hearth- 
rug, each cautiously watching the other, on his guard 
against stratagem and surprise. 

It was one of those painful domestic scenes which 
are fortunately rare between father and son. 

Overhead, the latest rollicking French polka was 
being rattled out, with a savage irony of which pianos, 
even by the best makers, can at times be capable. 

Suddenly Dick drew himself up. “ Stand out of my 
way ! ” he cried, excitedly, “ I am going to do it. I 
wish I was a man like you were just now ! ” 

And as he spoke, Mr. Bultitude had the bitterness of 
seeing his unscrupulous son swell out like the frog in 
the fable, till he stood there before him the exact du- 
plicate of what Paul had so lately been ! 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


37 


The transformed Dick began to skip and dance round 
the room in high glee, with as much agility as his in- 
creased bulk would allow. “ It’s all right, you see,” he 
said. The old stone’s as good as ever. You can’t say 
any one would ever know, to look at us.” 

And then he threw himself panting into a chair, and 
began to laugh excitedly at the success of his unprin- 
cipled manoeuvre. 

As for Paul, he was perfectly furious at having been 
so outwitted and overreached. It was a long time be- 
fore he could command his voice sufficiently to say, 
savagely : “ Well, you’ve had your way, and a pretty 
mess you’ve made of it. We’re both of us in false po- 
sitions now. I hope you’re satisfied, I’m sure. Do you 
think you’ll care about going back to Crichton House 
in that state ? ” 

‘•N'o,” said Dick, very decidedly ; “I’m quite sure I 
shouldn’t.” 

“Well, I can’t help it. You’ve brought it on your- 
self ; and, provided the doctor sees no objection to take 
you back as you are and receive you as one of his 
pupils, I shall most certainly send you there.” 

Paul did not really mean this, he only meant to 
frighten him ; for he still trusted that, by letting Boaler 
into the secret, the charm might be set in motion once 
more, and the difficulty comfortably overcome. But 
his threat had a most unfortunate effect upon Dick ; it 
hardened him to take a course he might otherwise have 
shrunk from. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ you’re going to do that ? But 
doesn’t it strike you that things are rather altered with 
us now ? ” 

“They are, to a certain extent, of course,” said Paul, 


38 


VICE VEESA. 


‘‘ througli my folly and your wicked cunning ; but a 
word or two of explanation from me — ” 

“You’ll find it will take more explanation than you 
think,” said Dick ; “ but, of course, you can try, if you 
think it worth while — when you get to Grimstone’s.” 

“When I — I don’t understand. When I — What 
did you say ? ” gasped Paul. 

“ Why, you see,” exclaimed Dick, “ it would never 
have done for us both to go back ; the chaps would 
have humbugged us so, and, as I hate the place, and 
you seem so fond of being a boy and going back to 
school and that, I thought perhaps it would be best for 
you to go and see how you liked it ! ” 

“ I never will ! I’ll not stir from this room ! I dare 
you to try to move me !” cried Paul. And just then 
there was the sound of wheels outside once more. They 
stopped before the house, the bell rang sharply — the 
long expected cab had come at last. 

“You’ve no time to lose,” said Dick, “get your 
coat on.” 

Mr. Bultitude tried to treat the affair as a joke. He 
laughed a ghastly little laugh. 

“ Ha ! ha ! you’ve fairly caught your poor old father 
this time ; you’ve proved him in the wrong. I admit I 
said more than I exactly meant. But that’s enough. 
Don’t drive a good joke too far ; shake hands, and let 
us see if we can’t find a way out of this ! ” 

But Dick only warmed his coat-tails at the fire as 
he said, with a very ungenerous reminiscence of his 
father’s manner ; “You are going back to an excellent 
establishment, where you will enjoy all the comforts of 
home — I can particularly recommend the stickjaw ; 
look out for it on Tuesdays and Fridays. You will 


A GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 


39 


once more take part in the games and lessons of happy 
boyhood. (Did you ever play ‘ chevy ’ when you were 
a boy before? You’ll enjoy chevy.) And you will 
find your companions easy enough to get on with, if 
you don’t go giving yourself airs ; they won’t stand 
airs. Now good-by, my boy, and bless you ! ” 

Paul stood staring stupidly at this outrageous as- 
sumption ; he could scarcely believe even yet that it 
was meant in cruel earnest. Before he could answer, 
the door opened and Boaler appeared. 

“ Had a deal of trouble to find a keb, sir, on a night 
like this,” he said to the false Dick, “but the luggage 
is all on top, and the man says there is plenty of time 
stiU.” 

“Good-by, then, my boy,” said Dick, with well- 
assumed tenderness, but a rather dangerous light in his 
eye. “ Remember, I expect you to work.” 

Paul turned indignantly from him to the butler ; he, 
at least, would stand by him. Boaler would not see a 
master who had always been fair, if not indulgent, to 
him driven from his home in this cold-blooded manner ! 

He made two or three attempts to speak, for his 
brain whirled so with scathing, burning things to say. 
He would expose the fraud then and there, and defy 
the impudent usurper ; he would warn every one against 
this spurious, pinchbeck imitation of himself. The whole 
household should be summoned and called upon to judge 
between the two ! 

No doubt, if he had had enough self-command to do 
all this effectually, while Dick had as yet not had the 
time to thoroughly adapt himself to his altered circum- 
stances, he might have turned the situation at the out- 
set, and spared himself some very painful experiences. 


40 


VICE VERSl. 


But it is very often precisely those words which are 
the most vitally important to be said that refuse to pass 
our lips on a sudden emergency. We feel all the neces- 
sity of saying something at once, but the necessary 
words unaccountably desert us at the critical moment. 

Mr. Bultitude felt himself in this unfortunate posi- 
tion. He made more wild efforts to explain, but the 
sense of his danger only petrified his mind instead of 
stimulating it. Then he was spared further confiict. A 
dark mist rose before his eyes ; the walls of the room 
receded into infinite space ; and, with a loud singing in 
his ears, he fell, and seemed to himself to be sinking 
down, down, through the earth to the very crust of the 
antipodes. Then the blackness closed over him — and 
he knew no more. 


CHAPTER III. 


m THE TOILS. 

“ I beseech you let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a 
reverend estimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a 
head .” — Merchant of Venice^ Act iv. 

When Mr. Bultitude recovered his senses, which was 
not for a considerable time, he found that he was being 
jolted along through a broad, well- lit thorougfare, in a 
musty four-wheeler. 

His head was by no means clear yet, and for some 
minutes he could hardly be said to think at all; he 
merely lay back dreamily listening to the hard, grinding 
jar of the cab windows vibrating in their grooves. 

His first distinct sensation was a vague wonder what 
Barbara might be intending to give him for dinner, for, 
oddly enough, he felt far from hungry, and was con- 
scious that his palate would require the adroitest witch- 

ing- 

With the thought of dinner his dining-room was 
almost inseparably associated, and then, with an instant 
rush of recollection, the whole scene there with the 
Garuda stone surged into his brain. He shuddered as 
he did so; it had all been so real, so hideously vivid 
and coherent throughout. But all unpleasant impres- 
sions soon yielded to the delicious luxury of his present 
security. 


42 


VICE YERSl. 


As his last conscious moment had been passed in his 
own dining-room, the fact that he opened his eyes in a 
cab, instead of confirming his worst fears, actually helped 
to restore the unfortunate old gentleman’s serenity ; for 
he frequently drove home from the city in this manner, 
and believed himself now, instead of being, as was ac- 
tually the case, in that marvellous region of cheap pho- 
tography, rocking-horses, mild stone lions, and wheels 
and ladders — the Euston Road — to be bowling along 
Holborn. 

!N’ow that he was thoroughly awake, he found posi- 
tive amusement in going over each successive incident 
of his night-mare experience with the talisman, and 
smiling at the tricks his imagination had played him. 

“ I wonder now how the dickens I came to dream 
such outrageous nonsense! ” he said to himself, for even 
his dreams were, as a rule, within the bounds of proba- 
bility. But he was not long in tracing it to the deviled 
kidneys he had had at the club for lunch, and some cu- 
rious old brown sherry Robinson had given him after- 
ward at his office, 

“ Gad, what a shock the thing has given me! ” he 
thought. ‘‘I can hardly shake off the feeling even 
now.” 

As a rule, after waking up on the verge of a fearful 
crisis, the effect of the horror fades swiftly away, as one 
detail after another evades a memory which is never 
too anxious to retain them, and each moment brings a 
deeper sense of relief and self-congratulation. 

But in Paul’s case, cm-iously enough, as he could not 
help thinking, the more completely roused he became, 
the greater grew his uneasiness. 

Perhaps the first indication of the truth was sug- 


IN THE TOILS. 


43 


gested to him by a lurking suspicion — which he tried 
to dismiss as mere fancy — that he filled rather less of 
the cab than he had always been accustomed to do. 

To reassure himself he set his thoughts to review all 
the proceedings of that day, feeling that, if he could 
satisfactorily account for the time up to his taking the 
cab, that would be conclusive as to the unreality of 
anything that appeared to have happened later in his 
own house. He. got on well enough till he came to the 
hour at which he had left the office, and then, search 
his memory as he would, he could not remember hailing 
any cab ! 

Could it be another delusion, too, or was it the fact 
that he had found himself much pressed for time and 
had come home by the Underground to Praed Street ? 
It must have been the day before, but that was Sunday. 
Saturday, then ? But the recollection seemed too recent 
and fresh ; and besides, on Saturday he had left at two, 
and had taken Barbara to see Messrs. Maskelyne and 
Cooke’s performance. 

Slowly, insidiously, but with irresistible force, the 
conviction crept upon him that he had dined, and dined 
well. 

If I have dined already,” he told himself, “ I can’t 
be going home to dinner ; and, if I am not going home 
to dinner, what — what am I doing in this cab ? ” 

The bare idea that something might be wrong with 
him after all made him impatient to put an end to all 
suspense. He must knock this scotched nightmare once 
for all on the head by a deliberate appeal to his senses. 

The cab had passed the lighted shops now, and was 
driving between squares and private houses, so that Mr. 
B altitude had to wait until the sickly rays of a street 


44 


VICE VEKSl. 


lamp glanced into the cab for a moment, and, as they 
did so, he put his feet up on the opposite seat and ex- 
amined his boots and trousers with breathless eagerness. 

It was not to be denied ; they were not his ordinary 
boots, nor did he ever wear such trousers as he saw 
above them ! Always a careful and punctiliously neat 
old gentleman, he was more than commonly exacting 
concerning the make and polish of his boots and the set 
of his trousers. 

These boots were clumsy, square-toed, and thick- 
soled ; one was even patched on the side. The trousers 
were heavy and rough, of the kind advertised as “ wear- 
resisting fabrics, suitable for youths at school,” frayed 
at the ends, and shiny — shamefully shiny — about the 
knees ! 

In hot despair he rapidly passed his hands over his 
person. It felt unusually small and slim, Mr. Bultitude 
being endowed with what is euphemistically termed a 
“ presence,” and it was with an agony rarely felt at such 
a discovery that he realized that, for the first time for 
more than twenty years, he actually had a waist. 

Then, as a last resource, he took off his hat and felt 
for the broad, smooth, egg-like surface, garnished by 
scanty side patches of thin hair, which he knew he ought 
to find. 

It was gone — hidden under a crop of thick, close- 
curling locks ! 

This last disappointment completely overcame him ; 
he had a kind of short fit in the cab as the bitter truth 
was brought home to him unmistakably. 

Yes, this was no dream of a distempered digestion, 
but sober reality. The whole of that horrible scene in 
the dining-room had really taken place ; and now he. 


IN THE TOILS. 


45 


Paul Bultitude, the widely respected merchant of Minc- 
ing Lane, a man of means and position, was being igno- 
miniously packed off to school as if he were actually the 
schoolboy some hideous juggle had made him appear ! 

It was only with a violent effort that he could suc- 
ceed in commanding his thoughts sufficiently to decide 
on some immediate action. ‘‘ I must be cool,” he kept 
muttering to himself, with shaking lips, ‘‘ quite cool and 
collected. Everything will depend on that now ! ” 

It was some comfort to him in this extremity to 
recognize on the box the well-known broad back of 
Clegg, a cabman who stabled his two horses in some 
mews near Praed Street, and whom he had been accus- 
tomed to patronize in bad weather for several years. 

Clegg would know him in spite of his ridiculous 
transformation. 

His idea was to stop the cab and turn round and 
drive home again, when they would find that he was 
not to be got rid of again quite so easily. If Dick im- 
agined he meant to put up tamely with this kind of 
treatment he was vastly mistaken ; he would return 
home boldly and claim his rights ! 

NTo reasonable person could be perverse enough to 
doubt his identity when once matters came to the 
proof ; though at first, of course, he might find a diffi- 
culty in establishing it. His children, his clerks, and 
his servants would soon get used to his appearance, and 
would learn to look below the mere surface, and then 
there was always the possibility of putting everything 
right by means of the magic stone. 

‘‘ I won’t lose a minute ! ” he said aloud ; and, letting 
down the window, leaned out and shouted ‘‘ Stop ! ” till 
he was hoarse. 


46 


VICE VEESl. 


But Clegg either could not or would not hear ; he 
drove on at full speed, a faster rate of progress than 
that adopted by most drivers of four-wheeled cabs being 
one of his chief recommendations. 

They were now passing Euston. It was a muggy, 
slushy night, with a thin, brown fog wreathing the 
houses, and fading away above their tops into a dull, 
slate-blue sky. The wet street looked like a black 
canal ; the blurred forms, less like vehicles than nonde- 
script boats, moving over its inky surface, were indis- 
tinctly reflected therein ; the gas-lights flared redly 
through the murky haze. It was not a pleasant evening 
in which to be out of doors. 

Paul would have opened the cab-door and jumped 
out had he dared, but his nerve failed him, and, indeed, 
considering the speed of the cab, the leap would have 
been dangerous to a far more active individual. So he 
was forced to wait resignedly until the station should 
be reached, when he determined to make Clegg un- 
derstand his purpose with as little loss of time as possi- 
ble. 

I must pay him something extra,” he thought ; 
“I’ll give him. a sovereign to take me back.” And he 
searched his pockets for the loose coin he usually carried 
about with him in such abundance ; there was no gold 
in any of them. 

He found, however, a variety of minor and less ne- 
gotiable articles, which he Ashed out one by one from 
unknown depths — a curious collection. There were a 
stumpy German-silver pencil case, a broken prism from 
a crystal chandelier, a gilded Jew’s harp, a little book 
in which the leaves, on being turned briskly, gave a 
semblance of motion to the sails of a black windmill 


IN THE TOILS. 


47 


drawn therein, a broken tin soldier, some Hong-Kong 
coppers with holes in them, and a quantity of little 
cogged wheels from the inside of a watch ; while a fur- 
ther search was rewarded by an irregular lump of toffee 
imperfectly infolded in sticky brown paper. 

He threw the whole of these treasures out of the 
window with indescribable disgust, and, feeling some- 
thing like a purse in a side-pocket, opened it eagerly. 

It held five shillings exactly, the coins corresponding 
to those he had pushed across to his son such a little 
while ago ! It did not seem to him quite such a mag- 
nificent sum now as it had done then ; he had shifted 
his point of view. 

It was too clear that the stone must have carried out 
his thoughtless wish with scrupulous and conscientious 
exactness in every detail. He had wanted, or said he 
wanted, to be a boy again like Dick, and accordingly 
he had become a perfect duplicate, even to the contents 
of the pockets. Evidently nothing on the face of things 
showed the slightest difference. Yet — and here lay the 
sting of the metamorphosis — ^he was conscious under it 
all of being his old original self, in utter discordance 
with the youthful form in which he was an unwilling 
prisoner. 

By this time the cab had driven up the sharp incline, 
and under the high pointed archway of St. Pancras ter- 
minus, and now drew up with a jerk against the steps 
leading to the booking-office. 

Paul sprang out at once in a violent passion. ‘‘ Here, 
you, Clegg ! ” he said, “ why the devil didn’t you pull 
up when I told you, eh ? ” 

Clegg was a burly, red-faced man, with a husky 
voice and a general manner which conveyed the impres- 


48 


VICE VERSA. 


sion that he regarded teetotalism, as a principle, with 
something more than disapproval. 

“ Why didn’t I pull up ? ” he said, bending stiffly 
down from his box. ‘‘ ’Cause I didn’t want to lose a 
good customer, that’s why I didn’t pull up ! ” 

“ Do you mean to say you don’t know me ? ” 
‘‘Knowyer ? ” said Clegg, with an approach to sen- 
timent : ‘‘ I’ve knowed yer when you was a babby in 
frocks. I’ve knowed yer fust nuss (and a fine young 
woman she were till she took to drinking, as has been 
the ruin of many). I’ve knowed yer in Infancy’s hour 
and in yer byhood’s bloom ! I’ve di*uv yer to this ’ere 
werry station twice afore. Know yer ! ” 

Paul saw the uselessness of arguing with him. 
“ Then, ah — drive me back at once. Let those boxes 
alone. I — I’ve important business at home which I’d 
forgotten.” 

Clegg gave a vinous wink. ‘‘ Lor, yer at it agin,” 
he said, with admiration. “ What a artful young gent 
it is ! But it aint what yer may call good enough, so 
to speak, it aint. Clegg don’t do that no more ! ” 

“ Don’t do what ? ” asked Paul. 

“ Don’t drive no young gents as is a bein’ sent to 
school back agin into their family’s bosims,” said Clegg, 
sententiously. ‘‘You was took ill sudden in my cab 
the larst time. Offal bad you was, to be sure, to hear 
ye, and I druv’ yer back ; and I never got no return 
fare, I didn’t, and yer par he made hisself downright 
nasty over it, said as if it occurred agin he shouldn’t 
employ me no more. I durstn’t go and offend yer par ; 
he’s a good customer to me, he is.” 

“ I’ll give you a sovereign to do it,” said Paul. 

“ If yer wouldn’t tell no tales, I might put yer down 


IN THE TOILS. 


49 


at the corner p’raps,” said Clegg, hesitating, to Paul’s 
joy ; ‘^not as it aint cheap at that, but let’s see yer suf- 
fering fust. Why,” he cried with lofty contempt as he 
saw from Paul’s face that the coin was not producible, 
“ y’aint got no suffering ! Garn away, and don’t try to 
tempt a pore cabby as has a livin’ to make ! What 
d’ye think of this, porter, now ? ’Ere’s a young gent a 
tryin’ to back out o’ going to school when he ought to 
be glad and thankful as he’s receivin’ the blessin’s of a 
good eddication. Look at me. I’m a ’ard workin’-man, 
I am. I aint ’ad no eddication. The kids, they’re a 
learnin’ French, and free’and drorin, and the bones on 
a skellington at the Board School, and I pays my cop- 
pers down every week cheerful. And why, porter? 
Why, young master ? ’Cause I knows the vally on it ! 
But when I sees a real young gent a despisin’ of the op- 
pertoonities as a bountiful Providence and a excellent 
par has ’eaped on his ’ed, it — it makes me sick, it in- 
spires Clegg with a pity and a contemp’ for such in- 
gratitood, which he cares not for to ’ide from public 
voo ! ” 

Clegg delivered this harangue with much gesture 
and in a loud tone, which greatly edified the porters 
and disgusted Mr. Bultitude. 

“Go away,” said the latter, “that’s enough. You’re 
drunk ! ” 

“ Drunk ! ” bellowed the outraged Clegg, rising on 
the box in his "wrath. “ ’Ear that. ’Ark at this ’ere 
young cock sparrer as tells a fam’ly man like Clegg as 
he’s drunk ! Drunk, after drivin’ his par in this ’ere 
werry cab through frost and fine fifteen year or more. 

I wonder yer don’t say the old ’orse is drunk ; you’ll 
be sayin’ that next ! Drunk ! oh, cert’nly, by all means. 

3 


60 


VICE VERSl. 


Never you darken my cab doors no more. I sball take 
and tell your par, I sball. Drunk, indeed ! A ill-con- 
ditioned young wiper as ever I see. Drunk ! yah ! ” 

And with much cursing and growling, Clegg gath- 
ered up his reins and drove off into the fog, Boaler hav- 
ing apparently pre-paid the fare. 

« Where for, sir, please ? ” said a porter, who had 
been putting the play box and portmanteau on a truck 
during the altercation. 

“Nowhere,” said Mr. Bultitude. “I— I’m not go- 
ing by this train ; find me a cab with a sober driver.” 

The porter looked round. A moment before there 
had been several cabs discharging their loads at the 
steps ; now the last had rolled away empty. 

“ You might find one inside the station by the arri- 
val platform,” he suggested ; “ but there’ll be sure to 
be one cornin’ up here in another minute, sir, if you 
like to wait.” 

Paul thought the other course might be the longer 
one, and decided to stay where he was. So he walked 
into the lofty hall in which the booking-offices are 
placed, and waited there by the huge fire that blazed in 
the stove until he should hear the cab arrive which 
could take him back to Westbourne Terrace. 

One or two trains were about to start, and the place 
was full. There were several Cambridge men “ going 
up ” after the Christmas vacation, in every variety of 
ulster ; some tugging at refractory white terriers, one 
or two intrusting tall bright bicycles to dubious porters 
with many cautions and directions. There were burly 
old farmers going back to their quiet country-side, 
flushed with the prestige of a successful stand under 
cross-examination in some witness-box at Lincoln’s Inn ; 


m THE TOILS. 


51 


to tell and re-tell the story over hill and dale, in the 
market-place and bar-parlor, every week for the rest 
of their honest lives. There was the usual panto- 
mime “ rally ” on a mild scale, with real frantic pas- 
sengers, and porters, and trucks, and trays of lighted 
lamps. 

Presently, out of the crowd and confusion, a small 
boy, in a thick pilot- jacket and an immensely tall hat, 
whom Paul had observed looking at him intently for 
some time, walked up to the stove and greeted him 
familiarly. 

“ Hallo, Bultitude ! ” he said, ‘‘ I thought it was 
you. Here we are again, eh ? Ugh ! ” and he giggled 
dismally. 

He was a pale-faced boy with freckles, very light 
green eyes, long, rather ragged black hair, a slouching 
walk, and a smile half-simpering, half-impudent. 

Mr. Bultitude was greatly staggered by the pre- 
sumption of so small a boy venturing to address him in 
this way. He could only stare haughtily. 

“ You might find a word to say to a fellow ! ” said 
the boy in an aggrieved tone. “ Look here ; come and 
get your luggage labeled.” 

“ I don’t want it labeled,” said Paul stiffly, feeling 
bound to say something. “I’m waiting for a cab to 
take me home again.” 

The other gave a loud whistle. “ That’ll make it 
rather a short term, won’t it, if you’re going home for 
the holidays already ? You’re a cool chap, Bultitude ! 
If I were to go back to my governor now, he wouldn’t 
see it. It would put him in no end of a bait. But 
you’re chaffing — ” 

Paul walked away from him with marked coolness. 


52 


VICE VERSA. 


He was not going to trouble himself to talk to his son’s 
schoolfellows. 

‘‘ Ain’t you well ? ” said the boy, not at all discour- 
aged by his reception, following him and taking his 
arm. ‘‘ Down in the mouth ? It is beastly, isn’t it, 
having to go back to old Grimstone’s ? The snow gave 
us an extra week, though — we’ve much to be thankful 
for. I wish it was the first day of the holidays again, 
don’t you ? What’s the matter with you ? What have 
I done to put you in a wax ? ” 

‘‘Nothing at present,” said Paul. “I don’t speak 
to you, merely because I don’t happen to have the — ah — 
pleasure of your acquaintance.” 

“ Oh, very Avell, then ; I daresay you know best,” 
said the other huffily. “ Only I thought — considering 
we came the same half, and have been chums, and 
always sat next one another ever since — you might per- 
haps just recollect having met me before, you know.” 

“Well, I don’t,” said Mr. Bultitude. “I tell you I 
haven’t the least idea what your name is. The fact is, 
there has been a slight mistake, which I can’t stop to 
talk about now. There’s a cab just driven up outside 
now. You must excuse me, really, my boy, I want to 
go.” 

He tried to work his arm free from the close and 
affectionate grip of his unwelcome companion, who was 
regarding him with a sort of admiring leer. 

“ What a fellow you are, Bultitude ! ” he said ; “ al- 
ways up to something or other. You know me well 
enough. I’m Jolland. What is the use of keeping it 
up any longer ? Let’s talk, and stop humbugging. How 
much grub have you brought back this time ? ” 

To be advised to stop humbugging, and be perse- 


IN THE TOILS. 


53 


cuted with such idle questions as these, maddened the 
poor gentleman. A hansom really had rolled up to the 
steps outside. He must put an end to this waste of 
precious time, and escape from this highly inconvenient 
small hoy. 

He forced his way to the door, the boy still keeping 
fast hold of his arm. Fortunately the cab was still there, 
and its late occupant, a tall, broad man, was standing 
with his back to them, paying the driver. Paul was only 
just in time. 

“ Porter ! ” he cried. “ Where’s that porter ? I want 
my box put on that cab. No, I don’t care about the 
luggage ; engage the cab. Now, you little ruffian, are 
you going to let me go ? Can’t you see Pm anxious to 
get away ? ” 

Jolland giggled more impishly than ever. ‘^Well, 
you have got cheek ! ” he said. “ Go on, I wish you 
may get that cab, I’m sure ! ” 

Paul, thus released, was just hurrying toward the cab, 
when the stranger who had got out of it settled the fare 
with satisfaction to himself, and turned sharply round. 

' The gas-light fell full on his face, and Mr. Bultitude 
recognized that the form and features were those of no 
stranger — he had stumbled upon the very last person he 
had expected or desired to meet just then — his flight 
was intercepted by his son’s schoolmaster. Dr. Grimstone 
himself ! 

The suddenness of the shock threw him completely 
off his balance. In an ordinary way the encounter 
would not, of course, have discomposed him ; but now 
he would have given worlds for presence of mind enough 
either to rush past to the cab, and secure his only chance 
of freedom before the doctor had fully realized his in- 

: 


54 


VICE VERSl. 


tention, or else greet hini affably and calmly, and, taking 
him quietly aside, explain his awkward position with an 
easy, man-of-the-world air, which would insure instant 
conviction. 

But both courses were equally impossible. He stood 
there, right in Dr. Grimstone’s path, with terrified, 
starting eyes and quivering limbs, more like an un- 
happy guinea-pig expecting the advances of a boa, than 
a British merchant in the presence of his son’s school- 
master ! He was sick and faint with alarm, and the 
consciousness that appearances were all against him. 

There was nothing in the least extraordinary in the 
fact of the doctor’s presence at the station. Mr. Bulti_ 
tude might easily have taken this into account as a very 
likely contingency and have provided accordingly, had 
he troubled to think, for it was Dr. Grimstone’s custom, 
upon the first day of the term, to come up to town and 
meet as many of his pupils upon the platform as intend- 
ed to return by a train previously specified at the foot 
of the school-bills ; and Paul had even expressly insisted 
upon Dick’s traveling under surveillance in this manner, 
thinking it necessary to keep him out of premature mis- 
chief. 

It makes a calamity doubly hard to bear when one 
looks back and sees by what a trivial chance it has come 
upon us, and how slight an effort would have averted it 
altogether ; and Mr. Bultitude cursed his own stupidity 
as he stood there, rooted to the ground, and saw the 
hansom (a “patent safety” to him in sober earnest) 
drive off and abandon him to his fate. 

Dr. Grimstone bore down heavily upon him and 
J olland, who had by this time come up. He was a tall 
and imposing personage, with a strong black beard and 


IN THE TOILS. 


65 


small, angry gray eyes, slightly blood-tinged ; he wore 
gai-ments of a semi-clerical cut and color, though he was 
not in orders. He held out a hand to each with elabo- 
rate geniality. 

“ Ha, Bultitude, my hoy, how are you ? How are 
you, Jolland ? Come hack, braced in hody and mind hy 
your vacation, eh ? That’s as it should he. Have you 
tickets ? Ho ? follow me, then. You’re both over age^ 
I believe. There you are ; take care of them.” 

And, before Paul could protest, he had purchased 
tickets for all three, after which he laid an authoritative 
hand upon Mr. Bultitude’s shoulder and v/alked him out 
through the booking-hall upon the platform. 

‘‘ This is awful,” thought Paul, shrinking involun- 
tarily ; “ simply awful. He evidently has no idea who 
I really am. Unless I’m very careful I shall be dragged 
off to Crichton House before I can put him right. If I 
could only get him away alone somewhere.” 

As if in answer to the wish, the doctor guided him 
by a slight pressure straight along by the end of the 
station, saying to Jolland as he did so, “I wish to have 
a little serious conversation with Richard in private. 
Suppose you go to the bookstall and see if you can find 
out any of our young friends. Tell them to wait for 
me there.” 

When they were alone the doctor paced solemnly 
along in silence for some moments, while Paul, who had 
always been used to consider himself a fairly prominent 
object, whatever might be his surroundings, began to 
feel an altogether novel sensation of utter insignificance 
upon that immense brown plain of platform and under 
the huge span of the arches whose girders were lost in 
wreaths of mingled fog and smoke. 


56 


VICE VBESl. 


Still lie had some hope. Was it possible, after all, 
that the doctor had divined his secret, and was search- 
ing for words delicate enough to convey his condolences ? 

“ I wished to tell you, Bultitude,” said the doctor 
presently, and his first words dashed all Paul’s rising 
hopes, “ that I hope you are returning this term with the 
resolve to do better things. You have caused your ex- 
cellent father much pain in the past. You little know 
the grief a willful boy can infiict upon his parent.” 

“ I think I have a very fair idea of it,” thought Paul, 
but he said nothing. 

“ I hope you left him in good health ? Such a de- 
voted parent, Richard — such a noble heart ! ” 

At any other time Mr. Bultitude might have felt 
gratified by these eulogies, but just then he was con- 
scious that he could lay no claim to them. It was Dick 
who had the noble heart now, and he himself felt less 
of a devoted parent even than he looked. 

‘‘ I had a letter from him during the vacation,” con- 
tinued Dr. Grimstone ; “ a sweet letter, Richard, breath- 
ing in every line a father’s anxiety and concern for your 
welfare.” 

Paul was a little staggered. He remembered having 
written, but he would scarcely perhaps have described 
his letter as “ sweet,” as he had not done much more 
than incclose a check for his son’s account and object 
to the items for pew-rent and scientific lectures with the 
diorama as excessive. 

“ But — and this is what I wanted to say to you, 
Bultitude — his is no blind, doting affection. He has 
implored me, for your own sake, if I see you diverging 
ever so slightly from the path of duty, not to stay my 
hand. And I shall not forget his injunctions.” 


IN THE TOILS. 


57 


A few minutes ago, and it would have seemed to 
Paul so simple and easy a matter to point out to the 
doctor th e very excusable error into which he had 
fallen. It was no more than he would have to do re- 
peatedly upon his return, and here was an excellent 
opportunity for an explanation. 

But, somehow, the words would not come. The 
schoolmaster’s form seemed so tremendous and tower- 
ing, and he so feeble and powerless before him, that he 
soon persuaded himself that a public place, like a sta- 
tion platform, was no scene for domestic revelations of 
so painful a character. 

He gave up all idea of resistance at present. “ Per- 
haps I had better leave him in his error till we get into 
the train,” he thought ; “ then we will get rid of that 
other hoy, and I can break it to him gradually in the 
railway carriage as I get more accustomed to him.” 

But, in spite of his determination to unbosom him- 
self without further delay, he knew that a kind of fas- 
cinated resignation was growing upon him and gaining 
firmer hold each minute. 

Something must be done to break the spell and burst 
the toils which were being woven round him, before all 
effort became impossible. 

‘‘And now,” said the doctor, glancing up at the 
great clock-face on which a reflector cast a patch of dim 
yellow light, “ we must be thinking of starting. But 
don’t forget what I have said.” 

And they walked back toward the bookstalls with 
their cheery warmth of color, past the glittering buffet, 
and on up the platform, to a part where six boys of 
various sizes were standing huddled forlornly together 
under a gaslight. 


58 


VICE VERSA, 


‘‘ Aha ! ” said Dr. Grimstone, with a slight touch of 
the ogre in his tone, “ more of my fellows, eh ? We 
shall he quite a party. How do you do, hoys ? Wel- 
come hack to your studies ! ” 

And the six hoys came forward, all evidently in the 
lowest spirits, and raised their tall hats with a studied 
politeness. 

“ Some old friends here, Bultitude,” said the doctor, 
impelling the unwilling Paul toward the group. You 
know Tipping, of course ; Coker, too, you’ve met be- 
fore — and Coggs. How are you, Siggers ? You’re 
looking well. Ah, hy the way, I see a new face — Kif- 
fin, I think ? Kiffin, this is Master Bultitude, who will 
make himself your mentor, I hope, and initiate you into 
our various manners and customs.” 

And, with a horrible dream-like sense of unreality, 
Mr. Bultitude found himself being greeted hy several 
entire strangers with a degree of warmth embarrassing 
in the extreme. 

He would have liked to protest and declare himself 
there and then in his true colors, hut if this had been 
difficult alone with the doctor under the clock, it was 
impossible now, and he submitted ruefully enough to 
their unwelcome advances. 

Tipping, a tall, red-haired, raw-boned boy, with 
sleeves and trousers he had outgrown, and immense 
boots, wrung Paul’s hand with misdirected energy, say- 
ing “ how-de-do ? ” with a gruff superiority, mercifully 
tempered by a touch of sheepishness. 

Coggs and Coker welcomed him with open arms 
as an equal, while Siggers, a short, slight, sharp-feat- 
ured boy, with a very fashionable hat and shirt-col- 
lars, and a horse-shoe pin, drawled, ‘’How are you. 


IN THE TOILS. 


59 


old boy ? ” with the languor of a confirmed man about 
town. 

The other two were Biddlecomb, a boy with a 
blooming complexion and a singularly sweet voice, and 
the new comer, Kiffin, who did not seem much more at 
home in the society of other boys than Mr. Bultitude 
himself, for he kept nervously away from them, shiver- 
ing with the piteous self-abandonment of an Italian 
greyhound. 

Paul was now convinced that, unless he exerted him- 
self considerably, his identity with his son would never 
even be questioned, and the danger roused him to a 
sudden determination. 

However his face and figure might belie him, noth- 
ing in his speech or conduct should encourage the mis- 
take. Whatever it might cost him to overcome his fear 
of the doctor, he would force himself to act and talk 
ostentatiously, as much like his own ordinary self as 
possible, during the journey down to Rodwell Begis, so 
as to prepare the doctor’s mind for the disclosures he 
meant to make at the earliest opportunity. He was 
beginning to see that the railway carriage, with all 
those boys sitting by and staring, would be an incon- 
venient place for so delicate and difiScult a confession. 

The guard having warned intending passengers to 
take their seats, and Jolland, who had been unaccount- 
ably missing all this time, having appeared from the 
direction of the refreshment buffet, furtively brushing 
away some suspicious-looking flakes and crumbs from 
his coat, and contrived to join the party unperceived, 
they all got into a first-class compartment — Paul with 
the rest. 

He longed for moral courage to stand out boldly 


60 


VICE VERSA. 


and refuse to leave town, but, as we have seen, it was 
beyond his powers, and he temporized. Very soon the 
whistle had sounded and the train had begun to glide 
slowly out beyond the platform and arch, past the sig- 
nal boxes and long, low sheds and offices which are the 
suburbs of a large terminus — and then it was too late. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A MINNOW AMONG TEITONS. 

“ Boys are capital fellows in their own way among their mates ; hut they 
are unwholesome companions for grown people .” — Essays of Elia. 

For some time after they were fairly started the 
doctor read his evening paper with an air of impar- 
tial but severe criticism, and Mr. Bultitude, as he sat 
opposite him next to the window, found himself over- 
whelmed with a new and very unpleasant timidity. 

He knew that, if he would free himself, this utterly 
unreasonable feeling must be wrestled with and over- 
come ; that now, if ever, was the time to assert himself, 
and prove that he was anything but the raw youth he 
was conscious of appearing. He had merely to speak 
and act, too, in his ordinary, everyday manner ; to for. 
get as far as possible the change that had affected his 
outer man, which was not so very difficult to do after 
all — and yet his heart sank lower and lower as each 
fresh telegraph post flitted past. 

“ I will let him speak first,” he thought ; “ then I 
shall be able to feel my way.” But there was more 
fear than caution in the resolve. 

At last, however, the doctor laid down his paper, 
and, looking round with the glance of proprietorship on 
his pupils, who had relapsed into a decorous and gloomy 


62 


VICE VERSl. 


silence, observed : “Well, boys, you have had an un- 
usually protracted vacation this time — owing to the 
unprecedented severity of the weather. We must try 
to make up for it by the zest and ardor with which we 
pursue our studies during the term. I intend to reduce 
the Easter holidays by a week by way of compensa- 
tion.” 

This announcement (which by no means relieved the 
general depression — the boys receiving it with a sickly 
interest) was good news to Paul, and even had the ef- 
fect of making him forget his position for the time. 

“ Pm uncommonly glad to hear it. Dr. Grimstone,” 
he said, heartily ; “ that’s as it should be. Boys have 
too many holidays as it is. There’s no reason, to my 
mind, why parents should be the sufferers by every 
snow-storm. It’s no joke, I can assure you, to have a 
great, idle boy hanging about the place eating his empty 
head off.” 

A burglar enlarging upon the sanctity of the law of 
property, or a sheep urging the necessity for butcher’s 
meat, could hardly have produced a greater sensation. 

Every boy was roused from his languor to stare and 
wonder at these traitorous sentiments, which, from the 
mouth of any but a known and tried companion, would 
have roused bitter hostility and contempt. As it was, 
their wonder became a rapturous admiration, and they 
waited for the situation to develop with a fearful and 
secret joy. 

It was some time before the doctor quite recovered 
himself ; then he said with a grim smile : “ This is in- 
deed finding Saul among the prophets; your sentiments, 
if sincere, Bultitude — I repeat, if sincere— are very 
creditable. But I am obliged to look upon them with 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


63 


suspicion.” Then, as if to dismiss a doubtful subject, 
he inquired generally, ‘‘And how have you all been 
spending your holidays, eh ? ” 

There was no attempt to answer this question, it 
being felt probably that it was, like the conventional 
“ Hov/ do you do ? ” one to which an answer is neither 
desired nor expected, especially as he continued almost 
immediately ; “ I took my boy Tom up to town the 
week before Christmas to see the representation of the 
‘Agamemnon’ at St. George’s Hall. The ‘Agamem- 
non,’ as most of you are doubtless aware, is a drama by 
^schylus, a Greek poet of established reputation. I 
was much pleased by the intelligent appreciation Tom 
showed during the performance. He distinctly recog- 
nized several words from his Greek Grammar in the 
course of the dialogue.” 

NTo one seemed capable of responding except Mr. 
Bultitude, who dashed into the breach with an al- 
most pathetic effort to maintain his accustomed stiff- 
ness. 

“ I may be old-fashioned,” he said — “ very likely I 
am ; but I, ah, decidedly disapprove of taking children 
to dramatic exhibitions of any kind. It unsettles them, 
sir — unsettles them.” 

Dr. Grimstone made no answer, but he put a hand 
on each knee, and glared with pursed lips and a leonine 
bristle of the beard at his youthful critic for some mo- 
ments, after which he returned to his “ Globe ” with a 
short, ominous cough. 

“ I have offended him now,” thought Paul. “ I must 
be more careful what I say. But I’ll get him into con- 
versation again presently.” 

So he began at the first opportunity : “You have 


64 


VICE VERSA. 


this evening’s paper, I see. No telegrams of importance, 
I suppose ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said the doctor, shortly. 

“ I saw a report in to-day’s ‘ Times,’ ” said poor 3Ir. 
Bultitude, with a desperate attempt at his most conver- 
sational and old-gentlemanly manner — “ I saw a report 
that the camphor crop was likely to be a failure this 
season. Now, it’s a very singular thing about camphor, 
that the Japanese — ” He hoped to lead the conversa- 
tion round to colonial produce, and thus open the doc- 
tor’s eyes by the extent of his acquaintance with the 
subject. 

“ I am already acquainted with the method of ob- 
taining camphor, thank you, Bultitude,” said the doc- 
tor, with dangerous politeness. 

“ I was about to observe, when you interrupted me,” 
said Paul — “ and this is really a fact that I doubt if you 
are aware of — that the Japanese never — ” 

‘‘Well, well,” said the doctor, with some impa- 
tience ; “ probably they never do, sir ; but I shall have 
other opportunities of finding out what you have read 
about the Japanese.” 

But he glanced over the top of the paper at the in- 
dignant Paul, who was not accustomed to have his in- 
formation received in this manner, with less suspicion 
and a growing conviction that some influence during the 
holidays had changed the boy from a graceless young 
scapegrace into a prig of the first water. 

“ He’s most uncivil,” Mr. Bultitude told himself — 
“ almost insulting ; but I’ll go on. Pm rousing his 
curiosity. I’m making way with him ; he sees a differ- 
ence already.” And so he applied himself once more. 

“You’re a smoker, of course. Dr. Grimstone?” he 


A MIXNOW AMONG TKITONS. 


65 


began. "We don’t stop anywhere, I think, on the way, 
and I must confess myself, after dinner, a whiff or two 
— I think I can give you a cigar you’ll appreciate.” 

And he felt for his cigar-case, really forgetting that 
it was gone, like all other incidents of his old self; while 
JoUand giggled with unrestrained delight at such charm- 
ing effrontery. 

" If I did not know, sir,” said the doctor, now effec- 
tually roused, " that this was ill-timed buffoonery and 
not an intentional insult, I should be seriously angry. 
As it is, I can overlook any exuberance of mirth, which 
is, perhaps, pardonable when the mind is elated by the 
return to the cheerful bustle and activity of school-life. 
But be very careful.” 

" He needn’t be so angry,” thought Paul ; “ how 
could I know he doesn’t smoke ? But I’m afraid he 
doesn’t quite know me, even now.” 

So he began again : " Did I hear you mention the 
name of Kiffin among those of your pupils here, doc- 
tor ? I thought so. Not the son of Jordan Kiffin, of 
College Hill, surely ? Yes ? Why, bless my soul, your 
father and I, my little fellow, were old friends in days 
before you were bom or thought of — bom or thought 
of. He was in a very small way then, a very small — 
Eh, Dr. Grimstone, don’t you feel well ? ” 

" I see what you’re aiming at, sir. You wish to 
prove to me that I’m making a mistake in my treatment 
of you.” 

"That was my idea, certainly,” said Paul, much 
pleased. “ I’m very glad you take me, doctor.” 

"I shall take you in a way you won’t appreciate 
soon, if this goes on,” said the doctor under his breath. 

" When the time comes I shall know how to deal 


66 


VICE VERSA. 


with you. Till then you’ll have the goodness to hold 
your tongue,” he said aloud. 

“It’s not a very polite way of putting it,” Paul said 
to himself, “hut, at any rate, he sees how the case 
stands now, and after all, perhaps, he only sj)eaks like 
that to put the hoys off the scent. If so, it’s uncom- 
monly considerate and thoughtful of him, hy Gad. I 
won’t say any more.” 

But, hy-and-hy, the open window made him break 
his resolution. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you. Dr. 
Grimstone,” he said, with the air of an old gentleman 
used to having his way in these matters, “ hut I posi- 
tively must ask you either to allow me to have this 
window up or to change places with you. The night 
air, sir, at this time of the year is fatal, my doctor tells 
me, simply fatal to a man of my constitution.” 

The doctor pulled up the window with a frown, 
and yet a somewhat puzzled expression. “ I warn you, 
Bultitude,” he said, “ you are acting very imprudently.” 

“ So I am,” thought Paul, “ so I am. Good of him 
to remind me. I must keep it up before all these boys. 
This unpleasant business musn’t get about. I’ll hold 
my tongue till we get in. Then, I daresay, Grimstone 
will see me off by the next train up, if there is one, 
and lend me enough for a bed at an hotel for the night. 
I couldn’t get to St. Pan eras till very late, of course. 
Or he might offer to put me up at the school. If he 
does, I think I shall very possibly accept. It might be 
better.” 

And he leaned back in his seat in a much easier 
frame of mind ; it was annoying, of course, to have 
been turned out of his warm dining-room, and sent all 
the way down to Rodwell Regis on a fool’s errand like 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


67 


this ; but still, if nothing worse came of it, he could 
put up with the temporary inconvenience, and it was a 
great relief to be spared the necessity of an explanation. 

The other boys watched him furtively with growing 
admiration, which expressed itself in subdued whispers, 
varied by little gurgles and ‘‘squirks” of laughter; 
they tried to catch his eye and stimulate him to fur- 
ther feats of audacity, but Mr. Bultitude, of course, 
repulsed all such overtures with a coldness and severity 
which at once baffled and piqued them. 

At last his eccentricity took a shape which consid- 
erably lessened their enthusiasm. Kiffin, the new boy, 
occupied the seat next to Paul ; he was a nervous-look- 
ing little fellow, with a pale face and big, pathetic brown 
eyes like a seal’s, and his dress bore plain evidence of a 
mother’s careful supervision, having all the uncreased 
trimness and specklessness rarely to be observed except 
in the toilettes of the waxen prodigies in a shop-win- 
dow. 

It happened that, as he lay back in the padded seat 
between the sheltering partitions, watching the sickly 
yellow dregs of oil surging dismally to and fro with 
the motion in the lamp overhead, or the black, indis- 
tinct forms flitting past through the misty blue outside, 
the pathos of his situation became all at once too much 
for him. 

He was a home-bred boy, without any of that taste 
for the companionship and pursuits of his fellows, or 
capacity for adapting himself to their prejudices and 
requirements, which gives some home-bred boys a ready 
passport into the roughest communities. 

His heart throbbed with no excited curiosity, no 
conscious pride, at this his first important step in life ; 


68 


VICE VEESl. 


he was a forlorn little stranger, in an unsympathetic, 
strange land, and was only too well aware of his posi- 
tion. 

So that it is not surprising that, as he thought of the 
home he had left an hour or two ago, which now seemed 
so shadowy, so inaccessible and remote, his eyes began 
to smart and sting, and his chest to heave ominously, 
until he felt it necessary to do something to give a par- 
tial vent to his emotions, and prevent a public and dis- 
graceful exhibition of grief. 

Unhappily for him, he found this safety-valve in a 
series of suppressed but distinctly audible sniffs. 

Mr. Bultitude bore this for some time with no other 
protest than an occasional indignant bounce or a lower- 
ing frown in the offender’s direction, but at last his 
nerves, strung already to a high pitch by all he had 
undergone, could stand it no longer. 

“Dr. Grimstone,” he said, with polite determination, 
“ I’m not a man to complain without good reason, but 
really I must ask you to interfere. Will you tell this 
boy here, on my right, either to control his feelings or 
to cry into his pocket-handkerchief, like an ordinary 
human being. A good honest bellow I can understand, 
but this infernal whiffling and snifflng, sir, I will not 
put up with. It’s nothing less than unnatural in a boy 
of that size.” 

“ Kiffln,” said the doctor, “ are you crying ? ” 

“ N— no, sir,” faltered Kiffln ; “ I— I think I must 
have caught cold, sir.” 

“I hope you are telling me the truth, because I 
should be sorry to believe you were beginning your new 
life in a spirit of captiousness and rebellion. I’ll have 
no mutineers in my camp. I’ll establish a spirit of 


A MINNOW AMONO TRITONS. 


69 


trustful happiness and unmurmuring content in this 
school, if I have to flog every hoy in it as long as I can 
stand over him ! As for you, Richard Bultitude, I 
have no words to express my pain and disgust at the 
heartless irreverence with which you persist in mimick- 
ing and burlesquing a fond and excellent parent. Un- 
less I perceive, sir, in a very short time, a due sense of 
your error and a lively repentance, my disapproval will 
take a very practical form.” 

Mr. Bultitude fell back into his seat with a gasp. 
It was hard to be accused of caricaturing one’s own self, 
particularly when conscious of entire innocence in that 
respect, but even this was slight in comparison with the 
discovery that he had been so blindly deceiving himself ! 

The doctor evidently had failed to penetrate his 
disguise, and the dreaded scene of elaborate explana- 
tion must be gone through after all. 

The boys (with the exception of Kiffin) still found 
exquisite enjoyment in this extraordinary and original 
exhibition, and waited eagerly for further experiments 
on the doctor’s patience. 

They were soon gratified. If there was one thing 
Paul detested more than another, it was the smell of 
peppermint — no less than three office boys had been 
discharged by him because, as he alleged, they made 
the clerks’ room reek with it — and now the subtile, 
searching odor of the hated confection was gradually 
stealing into the compartment and influencing its at- 
mosphere. 

He looked at Coggs, who sat on the seat opposite to 
him, and saw his cheeks and lips moving in slow and 
appreciative absorption of something. Coggs was clear- 
ly the culprit. 


70 


VICE VEESl. 


“ Do you encourage your boys to make common 
nuisances of themselves in a public place, may I ask, 
Dr. Grimstone ? ” be inquired, fuming. 

“ Some scarcely seem to require encouragement, 
Bultitude,” said the doctor, pointedly ; wbat is the 
matter now ? ” 

“ If he takes it medicinally,” said Paul, “ he should 
choose some other time and place to treat his complaint. 

If he has a depraved liking for the abominable stuff, for 
heaven’s sake make him refrain from it on occasions 
when it is a serious annoyance to others ! ” 

“ Will you explain ? Who and what are you talking 
about ? ” 

“ That boy opposite,” said Paul, pointing the finger 
of denunciation at the astonished Coggs ; “ he’s sucking 
an infernal peppermint lozenge strong enough to throw 
the train off the rails ! ” 

‘‘ Is what Bultitude tells me true, Coggs ? ” demand- 
ed the doctor, in an awful voice. 

Coggs, after making several attempts to bolt the - 
offending lozenge, and turning scarlet meanwhile with 
confusion and coughing, stammered huskily something 
to the effect that he had “bought the lozenges at a 
chemist’s,” which he seemed to consider, for some rea- j 
son, a mitigating circumstance. \ 

“ Have you any more of this pernicious stuff about 
you ? ” said the doctor. j 

Very slowly and reluctantly, Coggs brought out of 
one pocket after another three or four neat little white 
packets, made up with that lavish expenditure of time, 
string, and sealing-wax, by which the struggling chem- 
ist seeks to reconcile the public mind to a charge of two 
hundred and fifty per cent, on cost price, and handed 


A MINNOW AMONG TEITONS. 


71 


them to Dr. Grimstone, who solemnly unfastened them, 
one by one, glanced at their contents with infinite dis- 
gust, and fiung them out of window. 

Then he turned to Paul with a look of more favor 
than he had yet shown him. “ Bultitude,” he said, “ I 
am obliged to you. A severe cold in the head has ren- 
dered me incapable of detecting this insidious act of 
insubordination and self-indulgence, on which I shall 
have more to say on another occasion. Your moral 
courage and promptness in denouncing the evil thing 
are much to your credit.” 

“ NTot at all,” said Paul, not at all, my dear sir. I 
mentioned it because I, ah, happen to be peculiarly sen- 
sitive on the subject, and — ” Here he broke off with 
a sharp yell, and began to rub his ankle. “ One of these 
young savages has just given me a severe kick ; it’s that 
fellow over there, with the blue necktie. I have given 
him no provocation, and he attacks me in this brutal 
manner, sir ; I appeal to you for protection ! ” 

“ So, Coker ” (Coker wore a blue necktie), said the 
doctor, “you emulate the wild ass in more qualities 
than those of stupidity and stubbornness, do you ? You 
lash out with your hind legs at an inoffensive school- 
fellow with all the viciousness of a kangaroo, eh ? Write 
out all you find in Buff on’s Natural History upon those 
two animals a dozen times, and bring it to me by to- 
morrow evening. If I am to stable wild asses, sir, they 
shall be broken in ! ” 

Six pairs of sulky, glowering eyes were fixed upon 
the unconscious Paul for the rest of the journey ; indig- 
nant protests and dark vows of vengeance were mut- 
tered under cover of the friendly roar and rattle of 
tunnels. But the object of them heard nothing ; his 


72 


VICE VERSl. 


composure was returning once more in the sunshine of 
Dr. Grimstone’s approbation, and he almost decided on 
declaring himself in the station fly. 

And now at last the train was grinding along dis- 
cordantly with the brakes on, and, after a little prelimi- 
nary jolting and hanging over the points, drew up at a 
long, lighted platform, where melancholy porters paced 
up and down, croaking “ Rod well Regis ! ” like so many 
Solomon Eagles predicting woe. 

Paul got out with the others, and walked forward 
to the guard’s van, where he stood shivering in the raw 
night air by a small heaj^ of portmanteaux and white, 
clamped boxes. 

“ I should like to tell him all about it now,” he 
thought, ‘‘ if he wasn’t so busy. I’ll get him to go in 
a cab alone with me, and get it over before we reach 
the house.” 

Dr. Grimstone certainly did not seem in a very re- 
ceptive mood for confidences just then. hTo flys were 
to be seen, which he took as a personal outrage, and 
visited upon the station-master in hot indignation. 

“ It’s scandalous, I tell you,” he was saying ; “ scan- 
dalous ! 1^0 cabs to meet the train. My school reas- 

sembles to-day, and here I find no arrangements made 
for their accommodation ! Rot even an omnibus ! I 
shall write to the manager and report this. Let some 
one go for a fly immediately. Boys, go into the wait- 
ing-room till I come to you. Stay — there are too many 
for one fly. Coker, Coggs, and, let me see, yes, Bulti- 
tude, you all know your way. Walk on, and tell Mrs. 
Grimstone we are coming.” 

Mr. Bultitude was perhaps more relieved than dis- 
appointed by this postponement of a disagreeable inter- 


A MINNOW AMONG TIMTONS. 


73 


view, though, if he had seen Coker dig Coggs in the 
side with a chuckle of exultant triumph, he might have 
had misgivings as to the prudence of trusting himself 
alone with them. 

As it was, he almost determined to trust the pair 
with his secret. ‘‘ They will he valuable witnesses,” he 
said to himself, ‘‘ that, whoever else I may he, I am not 
Dick.” 

So he went on briskly ahead over a covered bridge 
and down some break-neck wooden steps, and passed 
through the wicket out upon the railed-in space, where 
the cabs and omnibuses should have been, but which 
was now a blank, spectral waste with a white ground- 
fog lurking round its borders. 

Here he was joined by his companions, who, after a 
little whispering, came up one on either side and put an 
arm through each of his. 

“ Well,” said Paul, thinking to banter them agree- 
ably ; “ here you are, young men, eh ? Holidays all 
over now ! Work while you’re young, and then — 
Gad, you’re walking me off my legs. Stop ! I’m not 
as young as I used to be — ” 

“ Grim can’t see us here, can he, Coker ? ” said Coggs, 
when they had cleared the gates and palings. 

“ Hot he ! ” said Coker. 

“ Very well, then. How then, young Bultitude, you 
used to be a decent fellow enough last term, though you 
were coxy. So, before we go any further — what do you 
mean by this sort of thing ? ” 

“Because,” put in Coker, “If you aren’t quite right 
in your head, through your old governor acting like a 
brute all the holidays, as you said he does, just say so, 
and we won’t be hard on you.’’ 

4 


74 : 


VICE VERSl. 


“I — he — always an excellent father,” stammered 
Paul. What am I to explain ? ” 

‘‘Why, what did you go and sneak of him for 
bringing tuck hack to school for, eh?” demanded 
Coker. 

“Yes, and sing out when he hacked your shin?” 
added Coggs ; “and tell Grimstone that new fellow was 
blubbering ? Where’s the joke in all that, eh ? Where’s 
the joke ? ” 

“You don’t suppose I was hound to sit calmly down 
and allow you to suck your villainous peppermints un- 
der my very nose, do you ? ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ Why 
shouldn’t I complain if a hoy annoys me by sniffing, or 
kicks me on the ankle? Just tell me that ! Suppose 
my neighbor has a noisy dog or a smoky chimney, am 
I not to venture to tell him of it ? Is he to — ” 

But his arguments, convincing as they promised to 
he, were brought to a sudden and premature close by 
Coker, who slipped behind him and administered a 
sharp jog below his hack, which jarred his spine and 
caused him infinite agony. 

“You little brute ! ” cried Paul, “ I could have you 
up for assault for that. An old man like me, too ! ” 

But upon this Coggs did the very same thing, only 
harder. “ Last term you’d have shown fight for much 
less, Bultitude,” they both observed severely, as some 
justification for repeating the process. 

“ Now, perhaps, you’ll drop it for the f uture,”^ said 
Coker. “ Look here ! we’ll give you one more chance. 
This sneaking dodge is all very well for Chawner. 
Chawner could do that sort of thing without getting 
sat upon, because he’s a big fellow ; but we’re not go- 
ing to stand it from you. Will you promise on your 




A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


75 


sacred word of honor, now, to be a decent sort of chap 
again, as you were last term ? ” 

But Mr. Bultitude, though he longed for peace and 
quietness, dreaded doing or saying anything to favor 
the impression that he was the schoolboy he unluckily 
appeared to be, and he had not skill and tact enough to 
dissemble and assume a familiar, genial tone of equality 
with these rough boys. 

“You don’t understand,” he protested feebly. “If 
I could only tell you — ” 

“We don’t want any fine language, you know,” said 
the relentless Coggs. “ Yes or no. Will you promise 
to be your old self again ? ” 

“ I only wish I could,” said poor Mr. Bultitude — 
“ but I can’t ! ” 

“Very well, then, said Coggs, firmly, “v/e must try 
the torture. Coker, will you screw the back of his 
hand, while I show him how they make barley-sugar ? ” 

And he gave Paul an interesting illustration of the 
latter branch of industry by twisting his right arm 
round and round till he nearly wrenched it out of the 
socket, while Coker seized his left hand and pounded it 
vigorously with the first joint of his forefinger, causing 
the unfortunate Paul to yell for mercy. 

At last he could bear no more, and, breaking away 
from his tormentors with a violent effort, he ran fran- 
tically down the silent road toward a house which he 
knew from former visits to be Dr. Grimstone’s. 

He was but languidly pursued, and, as the distance 
was short, he soon gained a gate on the stuccoed posts 
of which he could read “ Crichton House ” by the light 
of a neighboring gas-lamp. 

“ This is a nice way,” he thought, as he reached it 


‘T'G VICE VEESl. 

breathless and trembling, “ for a father to visit his son’s 
school ! ” 

He had hoped to reach sanctuary before the other 
two could overtake him j but he soon discovered that 
the gate was shut fast, and all his efforts would not 
bring him within reach of the bell-handle — ^he was too 
short. 

So he sat down on the doorstep in resigned despair, 
and waited for his enemies. Behind the gate was a 
large, many- windowed house, with steps leading up to a 
portico. In the playground to his right the school 
gymnasium, a great gallows-like erection, loomed black 
and grim through the mist, the night wind favoring the 
ghastliness of its appearance by swaying the ropes till 
they creaked and moaned weirdly on the hooks, and the 
metal stirrups clinked and clashed against one another 
in irregular cadence. 

He had no time to observe more, as Coker and Coggs 
joined him, and, on finding he had not rung the bell, 
seized the occasion to pummel him at their leisure be- 
fore announcing their arrival. 

Then the gate was opened, and the three — the re- 
vengeful pair assuming an air of lamb-like inoffensive- 
ness — entered the hall, and were met by Mrs. Grimstone. 

Why, here you are ! ” she said, with an air of sur- 
prise, and kissing them with real kindness. “ How cold 
you look ! So you actually had to walk. Ho cabs as 
usual. Poor boys ! come in and warm yourselves. 
You’ll find all your old friends in the schoolroom.” 

Mr. Bultitude submitted to be kissed with some re- 
luctance. He was a scrupulously proper and correct old 
gentleman, and inwardly hoped that Dr. Grimstone 
might never hear of it. 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


77 


Mrs. Grimstone, it may be said here, was a stout, fair 
woman, not in the least intellectual or imposing, but 
with a warm heart, and a way of talking to and about 
boys that secured her the confidence of mothers more 
effectually, perhaps, than the most polished conversa- 
tion and irreproachable deportment could have done. 

She did not reserve her motherliness for the recep- 
tion-room, either, as some schoolmasters’ wives have a 
tendency to do, and the smallest boy felt less homesick 
when he saw her. 

She opened a green-baize outer door, and the door 
beyond it, and led them into a long, high room, with 
desks and forms placed against the walls, and a writing 
table, and line of brown-stained tables down the mid- 
dle. Opposite the windows there was a curious struct- 
ure of shelves partitioned into lockers, and filled with 
rows of shabby school-books. 

The room had been originally intended for a draw- 
ing-room, as was evident from the inevitable white and 
gold wall-paper and the tarnished gilt beading round 
the doors and window shutters ; the mantel-piece, too, 
was of white marble, and the gaselier fitted with dingy 
crystal lusters. 

But sad-colored maps hung on the ink-splashed walls, 
and a clock with a blank idiotic face (it is not every 
clock that possesses a decently intelligent expression) 
ticked over the gilt pier-glass. The boards were uncar- 
peted, and stained with patches of ink of all sizes and 
ages ; while the atmosphere, in spite of the blazing fire, 
had a scholastic blending of soap and water, ink, and 
slate-pencil in its composition, which produced a chill 
and depressing effect. 

On the forms opposite the fire some ten or twelve 


78 


VICE VERSl. 


boys were sitting, a few comparing notes as to their 
holiday experiences with some approach to vivacity. 
The rest, with hands in pockets and feet stretched 
toward the blaze, seemed lost in melancholy abstraction. 

“ There ! ” said Mrs. Grimstone, cheerfully, you’ll 
have plenty to talk to one another about. I’ll send 
Tom in to see you presently ! ” And she left them 
with a reassuring nod, though the prospect of Tom’s 
company did not perhaps elate them as much as it was 
intended to do. 

Mr. Bultitude felt much as if he had suddenly been 
dropped down a bear-pit, and, avoiding welcome and 
observation as well as he could, got away into a corner, 
from which he observed his new companions with un- 
easy apprehension. 

“ I say,” said one boy, resuming the interrupted 
conversation, did you go to Drury Lane ? Wasn’t it 
stunning ! That goose, you know, and the lion in the 
forest, and all the wooden animals lumbering in out of 
the toy Koah’s Ark ! ” 

“ Why couldn’t you come to our party on Twelfth- 
night ? ” asked another. ‘‘We had great larks. I wish 
you’d been there ! ” 

“ I had to go to young Skidmore’s instead,” said a 
pale, spiteful-looking boy, with fair hair carefully parted 
in the middle. “ It was like his cheek to ask me, but I 
thought I’d go, you know, just to see what it was like.” 

“ What was it like ? ” asked one or two near him, 
languidly. 

“ Oh, awfully slow ! They’ve a poky little house 
in Brompton somewhere, and there was no dancing, 
only boshy games and a conjurer, without any presents. 
And, oh ! I say, at supper there v/as a big cake on the 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


79 


table, and no one was allowed to cut it, because it was 
hired. They’re so poor, you know. Skidmore’s pater 
is only a clerk, and you should see his sisters ! ” 

“ Why, are they pretty ? ” 

Pretty ! they’re just like young Skidmore — only 
uglier ; and just fancy, his mother asked me ‘if I was 
Skidmore’s favorite companion, and if he helped me in 
my studies ? ’ ” 

The unfortunate Skidmore, when he returned, soon 
found reason to regret his rash hospitality, for he never 
heard the last of the cake (which had, as it happened, 
been paid for in the usual manner) during the rest of 
the term. 

There was a slight laugh at the enormity of Mrs. 
Skidmore’s presumption, and then a long pause, after 
which some one asked suddenly, “ Does any one know 
whether Chawner really has left this time ? ” 

“I hope so,” said a big, heavy boy, and his hope 
seemed echoed with a general fervor. “ He’s been going 
to leave every term for the last year, but I believe he 
really has done it this time. He wrote and told me he 
wasn’t coming back.” 

“ Thank goodness ! ” said several, with an evident 
relief, and some one was just observing that they had 
had enough of the sneaking business, when a fly was 
heard to drive up, and the bell rang, whereupon every 
one abandoned his easy attitude, and seemed to brace 
himself up for a trying encounter. 

“ Look out — here’s Grimstone ! ” they whispered un- 
der their breaths, as voices and footsteps were heard in 
the hall outside. 

Presently the door of the schoolroom opened, and 
another boy entered the room. Dr. Grimstone, it ap- 


80 


VICE VERSl. 


peared, had not been the occupant of the fly, after all. 
The new comer was a tall, narrow-shouldered, stooping 
fellow, with a sallow, unwholesome complexion, thin 
lips, and small, sunken brown eyes. His cheeks were 
creased with a dimpling suhsmile, half uneasy, half ma- 
licious, and his tread was mincing and catlike. 

Well, you fellows ? ” he said. 

All rose at once, and shook hands effusively. ‘‘ Why, 
Chawner ! ” they cried, ‘‘how are you, old fellow ? We 
thought you weren’t coming hack ! ” 

There was a heartiness in their manner somewhat at 
variance with their recent expressions of opinion ; but 
they had doubtless excellent reasons for any inconsist- 
ency. 

“Well,” said Chawner, in a low, soft voice, which 
had a suggestion of feminine spitefulness, “ I was going 
to leave, but I thought you’d be getting into mischief 
here without me to watch over you. Appleton, and 
Lench, and Coker want looking after badly, I know. 
So, you see, I’ve come back after all.” 

He laughed with a little malevolent cackle as he 
spoke, and the three boys named laughed too, though 
with no great heartiness, and shifting the while uneasily 
on their seats. 

After this sally the conversation languished until 
Tom Grimstone’s appearance. He strolled in with a 
semi-professional air, and shook hands with affability. 

Tom was a short, flabby, sandy-haired youth, not 
particularly loved of his comrades, and his first remark 
was, “I say, you chaps, have you done your holiday 
task ? Pa says he shall keep every one in who hasn’t. 
I’ve done mine ; ” which, as a contribution to the gen- 
eral liveliness, was a distinct failure. 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


81 


[Needless to say, the work imposed as a holiday occu- 
pation had been first deferred, then forgotten, then re- 
membered too late, and recklessly defied with the con- 
fidence begotten in a home atmosphere. 

Amid a general silence Chawner happened to see 
Mr. Bultitude in his corner, and crossed over to him. 
“ Why, there’s Dicky Bultitude there all the time, and 
he never came to shake hands 1 Aren’t you going to 
speak to me ? ” 

Paul growled something indistinctly, feeling strange- 
ly uncomfortable and confused. 

“ What’s the matter with him ? ” asked Chawner. 
“ Does any one know ? Has he lost his tongue ? ” 

‘‘ He hadn’t lost it coming down in the train,” said 
Coker : “I wish he had. I tell you what, you fellows 
— He — here’s Grim at last ! I’ll tell you all about it up 
in the bedroom.” 

And Dr. Grimstone really did arrive at this point, 
much to Paul’s relief, and looked in to give a grip of 
the hand and a few words to those of the boys he had 
not seen. 

Biddlecomb, Tipping, and the rest, came in with 
him, and the schoolroom soon filled with others arriving 
by later trains, among the later comers being the two 
house-masters, Mr. Blinkhorn and Mr. Tinkler ; and 
there followed a season of bustle and conversation, 
which lasted until the doctor touched a small hand-bell, 
and ordered them to sit down round the tables while 
supper was brought in. 

31r. Bultitude was not sorry to hear the word sup- 
per.” He was faint and dispirited, and, although he 
had dined not very long since, thought that perhaps a 
little cold beef and beer, or some warmed-up trifle, 


82 


VICE VEESA. 


miglit give him courage to tell his misfortunes before 
bedtime. 

Of one thing he felt certain. iN’othing should in- 
duce him to trust his person in a bedroom with any of 
those violent and vindictive boys ; whether he succeeded 
in declaring himself that night or not, he would at least 
insist on a separate bedroom. Meantime he looked for- 
ward to supper as likely to restore geniality and confi- 
dence. 

But the supper announced so imposingiy proved to 
consist of nothing more than two plates piled with small 
pieces of thinly-buttered bread, which a page handed 
round together with tumblers of water ; and Paul, in 
his disappointment, refused this refreshment with more 
firmness than politeness, as Dr. Grimstone observed. 

“You got into trouble last term, Bultitude,” he said 
sternly, “ on account of this same fastidious daintiness. 
Your excellent father has informed me of your waste 
and gluttony at his own bountifully spread table. Don’t 
let me have occasion to reprove you for this again.” 

Mr. Bultitude, feeling the necessity of propitiating 
him, hasted to take the two largest squares of bread and 
butter on the plate. They were moist and thick, and 
he had considerable difficulty in disposing of them, be- 
sides the gratification of hearing himself described as a 
“ pig ” by his neighbors, who reproved him with a re- 
freshing candor. 

“I must get away from here,” he thought, ruefully. 
“ Dick seems very unpopular. I wish I didn’t feel so 
low-spirited and unwell. "Why can’t I carry it off easily, 
as — as a kind of joke ? How hard these forms are, and 
how those infernal boys did jog my back ! ” 

Bedtime came at length. The boys filed, one by 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 83 

one, out of the room, and the doctor stood by the door 
to shake hands with them as they passed. 

Mr. Bultitude lingered until the others had gone, for 
he had made up his mind to seize this opportunity to 
open the doctor’s eyes to the mistake he was making. 
But he felt unaccountably nervous ; the diplomatic and 
well-chosen introduction he had carefully prepared had 
left him at the critical moment ; all power of thought 
was gone with it, and he went tremblingly up to the 
school-master, feeling hopelessly at the mercy of any- 
thing that chose to come out of his mouth. 

Dr. Grimstone,” he began ; before retiring I — I 
must insist — I mean I must request — What I wish to 
say is — ” 

“ I see,” said the doctor, catching him up sharply. 
“ You wish to apologize for your extraordinary beha- 
vior in the railway carriage ? Well, though you made 
some amends afterward, an apology is very right and 
proper. Say no more about it.” 

“ It’s not that,” said Paul hopelessly ; I wanted to 
explain — ” 

“ Your conduct with regard to the bread and butter. 
If it was simply want of appetite, of course there is no 
more to be said. But I have an abhorrence of — ” 

‘‘ Quite right,” said Paul, recovering himself ; “ I 
hate waste myself, but there is something I must tell 
you before — ” 

If it concerns that disgraceful conduct of Coker’s,” 
said the doctor, “you may speak on. I shall have to 
consider his case to-morrow. Has any similar case of 
disobedience come to your knowledge ? If so, I expect 
you to disclose it to me. You have found some other 
boy with sweetmeats in his possession ? ” 


84 


VICE VEESl. 


‘‘ Good heavens, sir ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, losing his 
temper ; “ I haven’t been searching the whole school for 
sweetmeats ! I have other things to occupy my mind, 
sir. And, once for all, I demand to be heard ! Dr. 
Grimstone there are, ahem, domestic secrets that can 
only be alluded to in the strictest privacy. I see that 
one of your assistants is writing at his table there. Can 
not we go where there will be less risk of interruption ? 
You have a study, I suppose ?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the doctor, with terrible grimness, 
“ I have a study — and I have a cane. I can convince 
you of both facts, if you wish it. If you insult me 
again by this brazen buffoonery, I will. Be off to your 
dormitory, sir, before you provoke me to punish you. 
l^ot another word ! Go ! ” 

And, incredible as it may appear to all who have 
never been in his position, Mr. Bultitude went. It 
was almost an abdication, it was treachery to his true 
self ; he knew the vital importance of firmness at this 
crisis. But, nevertheless, his courage gave way all at 
once, and he crawled up the bare, uncarpeted stairs 
without any further protest ! 

“ Good night,” Master Bultitude,” said a housemaid, 
meeting him on the staircase : “you know your bed- 
room. 'No. 6, with Master Coker, and Master Biddle- 
comb, and the others.” 

Paul dragged himself up to the highest landing- 
stage, and, with a sick foreboding, opened the door on 
which the figure 6 was painted. 

It was a large, bare, plainly-papered room, with 
several curtainless windows, the blinds of which were 
drawn, a long, deal stand of wash-hand basins, and 
eight little white beds against the walls. 


A MINNOW AMONG TRITONS. 


85 


A fire was lighted in consideration of its being the 
first night, and several boys were talking excitedly 
round it. ‘‘ Here he is ! He’s stayed behind to tell 
more tales ! ” they cried, as Paul entered nervously. 
‘‘ Mow then, Bultitude, what have you got to say for 
yourself?” 

Mr. Bultitude felt powerless among all these young 
wolves. He had no knowledge of boys, nor any notion 
of acquiring an influence over them, having hitherto 
regarded them as necessary nuisances, to be rather 
repressed than studied. He could only stare hopelessly 
at them in fascinated silence. 

‘‘You see he hasn’t a word to say for himself !” 
said Tipping. “ Look here, what shall we do to him ? 
Shall we try tossing in a blanket ? Pve never tried 
tossing a fellow in one myself, but as long as you don’t 
jerk him too high, or out on the floor, you can’t hurt 
him dangerously.” 

“Mo, I say, don’t toss him in a blanket,” pleaded 
Biddlecomb, and Paul felt gratefully toward him at the 
words ; “ any one coming up would see what was going 
on. I vote we flick at him with towels.” 

“Mow just you understand this clearly,” said Paul, 
thinking, not without reason, that this course of treat- 
ment was likely to prove painful ; “ I refuse to allow 
myself to be flicked at with towels. Mo one has ever 
offered me such an indignity in my life ! Oh, do you 
think Pve not enough on my mind as it is without the 
barbarities of a set of young brutes like you ! ” 

As this appeal was not of a very conciliatory nature, 
they at once proceeded to form a circle round him and, 
judging their distance with great accuracy, jerked tow- 
els at his person with such diabolical dexterity that the 


86 


VICE VERSl. 


wet corners cut him. at all points like so many fine 
thongs, and he spun round like a top, dancing, and, I 
regret to add, swearing violently, at the pain. 

When he was worked up almost to frenzy pitch, 
Biddlecomh’s sweet low voice cried, Gave, you fel- 
lows ! I hear Grim. Let him undress now, and we 
can lam it into him afterward with slippers ! ” 

At this they all cast off such of their clothes as they 
still wore, and slipped modestly and peacefully into 
bed, just as Dr. Grimstone’s large form appeared at the 
door- way. Mr. Bultitude made as much haste as he 
could, but did not escape a reprimand from the doctor 
as he turned the gas out ; and, as soon as he had made 
the round of the bed-rooms and his heavy tread had 
died away down the staircase, the light-hearted occu- 
pants of INTo. 6 “lammed” it into the unhappy Paul 
until they were tired of the exercise, and left him to 
creep, sore and trembling with rage and fright, into his 
cold, hard bed. 

Then, after a little desultory conversation, one by 
one sank from incoherence into silence, and rose from 
silence to snores, while Paul alone lay sleepless, listen- 
ing to the creeping tinkle of the dying fire, drearily 
wondering at the marvelous change that had come 
over his life and fortunes in the last few hours, and 
feverishly composing impassioned appeals which were 
to touch the doctor’s heart and convince his reason. 


CHAPTER V. 


DISGEACE. 

“Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day’s disasters in his morning’s face.” 

Sleep came at last, and brought too brief forgetful- 
ness. It was not till the dull gray light of morning 
was glimmering through the blinds that Mr. Bultitude 
awoke to his troubles. 

The room was bitterly cold, and he remained shiv- 
ering in bed for some time, trying to realize and pre- 
pare for his altered condition. 

He was the only one awake. How and then from 
one of the beds around a boy would be heard talking in 
his sleep, or laughing with holiday glee — at the drol- 
leries possibly of some pantomime performed for his 
amusement in the Theatre Royal, Dreamland — a theatre 
mercifully open to all boys free of charge, long after 
the holidays have come to an end, the only drawbacks 
being a certain want of definiteness in the plot and 
scenery, and a liability to premature termination of the 
vaguely splendid performance. 

Once Kiffin, the new boy, awoke with a start and a 
heavy sigh, but he cried himself to sleep again almost 
immediately. 

Mr. Bultitude could bear being inactive no longer. 


88 


VICE VERSA. 


He thought, if he got up, he might perhaps see his mis- 
fortunes shrink to a more bearable, less hopeless scale, 
and besides, he judged it prudent, for many reasons, to 
finish his toilet before the sleepers began theirs. 

Very stealthily, dreading to rouse any one and at- 
tract attention in the form of slippers, he broke the 
clinking crust of ice in one of the basins and, shudder- 
ing from the shock, bathed face and hands in the biting 
water. He parted his hair, which from natural causes 
he had been unable to accomplish for some years, and 
now found an awkwardness in accomplishing neatly, 
and then stole down the dark, creaking staircase just as 
the butler in the hall began to swing the big railway 
bell which was to din stern reality into the sleepy ears 
above. 

In the schoolroom a yawning maid had just lighted 
the fire, from which turbid yellow clouds of sulphurous 
smoke were pouring into the room, making it necessary 
to open the windows and lower a temperature that was 
far from high originally. 

Paul stood shaking by the mantelpiece in a very bad 
temper for some minutes. If the doctor had come in 
then, he might have been spurred by indignation to 
utter his woes, and even claim and obtain his freedom. 
But that was not to be. 

The door did open presently, however, and a little 
girl appeared ; a very charming little maiden indeed, 
in a neat dark costume relieved by a fresh white pina- 
fore. She had deep gray eyes and glossy brown hair 
falling over her forehead and down her back in soft 
straight masses, her face was oval rather than round, 
and slightly serious, though her smile was pretty and 
gay. 


DISGKACE. 


89 


She ran toward Mr. Bultitude with a glad little cry, 
stretching out her pretty hands. 

“ Dick ! dear Dick ! ” she said, “ I am so glad ! I 
thought you’d be down early ; as you used to be. I 
wanted to sit up last night so very much, but mamma 
wouldn’t let me.” 

Some old gentlemen might have been very glad to be 
welcomed in this way, even vicariously, and have seized 
the opportunity to pet and pay court to her. As for 
boys, it must have been a very bad school indeed which 
Dulcie Grimstone could not have robbed of much of its 
terrors. 

Mr. Bultitude, however, as has been explained, did 
not appreciate children — being a family man himself. 
When one sees their petty squabbles and jealousies, 
hears their cruel din, and pays for their monkeyish mis- 
chief, perhaps the daintiest children seem but an earthly 
order of cherubim. He was only annoyed and embar- 
rassed by the interruption, though he endured it. 

‘‘ Ah,” he said, with condescension, “ and so you’re 
Dr. Grimstone’s little girl, are you ? How d’ye do, my 
dear ? ” 

Dulcie stopped and looked at him, with drawn eye- 
brows, and her soft mouth quivering. “ What makes 
you talk like that ? ” she asked. 

How ought I to talk ? ” said Paul. 

‘‘You didn’t talk like that before,” said Dulcie, 
plaintively. “I — I thought perhaps you’d be glad to 
see me. You were once. And — and — when you went 
away last you asked me to — to — kiss you, and I did, and 
I wish I hadn’t. And you gave me a ginger lozenge 
with your name written on it in lead pencil, and I gave 
you a cough-lozenge with mine ; and you said it was to 


90 


VICE VERSl. 


show that you were my sweetheart and I was yours. 
But I suppose you’ve eaten the one I gave you ? ” 

“ This is dreadful ! ” thought Mr. Bultitude. “ What 
shall I do now ? The child evidently takes me for that 
little scoundrel Dick.” “ Tut-tut,” he said aloud, ‘‘ lit- 
tle girls like you are too young for such nonsense. You 
out to think about — about your dolls, and — ah, your 
needlework — not sweethearts ! ” 

“You say that now!” cried Dulcie indignantly. 
“You know I’m not a little girl, and I’ve left off play- 
ing with dolls — almost. Oh, Dick, don’t be unkind I 
You haven’t changed your mind, have you? ” 

“1^0,” said Paul, dismally, “I’ve changed my body. 
But there — you wouldn’t understand. Run away and 
play somewhere, like a good little girl I ” 

“ I know what it is ! ” said Dulcie. “You’ve been 
out to parties, or somewhere, and seen some horrid girl 
. . . you like . . . better than me ! ” 

“This is absurd, you know,” said Mr. Bultitude. 
“You can’t think how absurd it is ! Row, you’ll be a 
very foolish little girl if you cry. You’re making a 
mistake. I’m not the Dick you used to know ! ” 

“ I know you’re not ! ” sobbed Dulcie. “ But oh, 
Dick, you will be. Promise me you v/ill be I ” And, 
to Paul’s horror and alarm, she put her arms round his 
neck, and cried piteously on his shoulder. 

“ Good gracious ! ” he cried, “ let me go. Don’t do 
that, for heaven’s sake 1 I can hear some one coming. 
If it’s your father it will ruin me ! ” 

But it was too late. Over her head he saw Tipping 
enter the room, and stand glaring at them menacingly. 
Dulcie saw him too, and sprang away to the window, 
where she tried to dry her eyes unperceived, and then 


DISGRACE. 


91 


ran past him with a hurried good morning, and escaped, 
leaving Paul alone with the formidable Tipping. 

There was an awkward silence at first, which Tip- 
ping broke by saying, “ What have you been saying to 
make her cry, eh ? ” 

What’s that to you, sir ? ” said Paul, trying to keep 
his voice firm. 

‘‘ Why, it’s just this to me,” said Tipping, that I’ve 
been spoons on Dulcie myself ever since I came, and 
she never would have a word to say to me. I never 
could think why, and now it turns out to be you ! What 
do you mean by cutting me out like this ? I heard her 
call you ‘ dear Dick.’ ” 

“ Don’t be an ass, sir ! ” said Paul angrily. 

‘‘How, none of your cheek, you know ! ” said Tip- 
ping, edging up against him with a dangerous inclina- 
tion to first jostle aggressively, and then maul his uncon- 
scious rival. “You just mind what I say. I’m not 
going to have Dulcie bothered by a young beggar in 
the second form ; she deserves something better than 
that, anyway, and I tell you that if I once catch you 
talking to her in the way you did just now, or if I hear 
of her favoring you more than any other fellows. I’ll 
give you the very best licking you ever had in your 
life. So look out ! ” 

At this point the other boys began to straggle down 
and cluster round the fire, and Paul withdrew from the 
aggrieved Tipping, and looked drearily out of the win- 
dow on the hard road and bare black trees outside. 

“ I must tell the doctor how I’m situated ! ” he 
thought ; “ and yet, directly I open my mouth, he threat- 
ens to flog me. If I stay here that little girl will be 
always trying to speak to me, and I shall be thrashed 


92 


VICE VERSl. 


by the red-haired boy. If I could only manage to 
speak out after breakfast ! ” 

It was not without satisfaction that he remembered 
that he paid extra for “ meat for breakfast ” in his son’s 
school-bills, for he was beginning to look forward to 
meal-time with the natural desire of a young and 
healthy frame for nourishment. 

At eight o’clock the doctor came in and announced 
breakfast, leading the way himself to what was known 
in the school as the “ Dining Hall.” It scarcely de- 
served so high-sounding a name, perhaps, being a long, 
low room on the basement floor, with a big fireplace, 
fitted with taps and baking ovens, which provoked the 
suspicion that it had begun existence as a back kitchen. 

The doctor took his seat alone at a cross table form- 
ing the top of one of the two rows of tables, set with 
white cups and saucers, and plates well heaped wdth the 
square pieces of bread and butter, while Mrs. Grim- 
stone, with Dulcie and Tom, sat at the foot of the same 
row, behind two ugly urns of dull block-tin. 

But when Mr. Bultitude, more hungry than he had 
felt for years, found his place at one of the tables, he 
was disgusted to find upon his plate— not, as he had 
confidently expected, a couple of plump poached eggs, 
with their appetizing contrast of ruddy gold and silvery 
white, not a crisp and crackling sausage or a mottled 
omelette, not even the homely but luscious rasher, but 
a brace of chill, forbidding sardines, floating grim and 
headless in bilious green oil ! 

It was a fish he positively loathed, nor could it be 
reasonably expected that the confidence necessary for a 
declaration was to be begotten by so sepulchral a form 
of nutriment. 


DISGRACE. 


93 


He roused himself, however, to swallow them, to- 
gether with some of the thin and tin-flavored coffee. 
But the meal as a whole was so different from the 
plentiful, well-cooked breakfasts he had sat down before 
for years, as a matter of course, that it made him feel 
extremely unwell. 

No talking was allowed during the meal. The doc- 
tor now and then looked up from his dish of kidneys on 
toast (at which envious glances were occasionally cast) 
to address a casual remark to his wife across the long 
row of plates and cups, but, as a rule, the dull, champ- 
ing sound of boys solemnly and steadily munching was 
all that broke the silence. 

Toward the end, when the plates had been generally 
cleared, and the boys sat staring with the stolidity of 
repletion at one another across the tables, the junior 
house-master, Mr. Tinkler, made his appearance. He 
had lately left a small aod little known college at Cam- 
bridge, where he had contrived, contrary to expecta- 
tion, to evade the uncoveted wooden spoon by just two 
places, which enabled the doctor to announce himself 
as being “ assisted by a graduate of the University of 
Cambridge who has taken honors in the Mathematical 
Tripos.” 

For the rest, he was a small, insigniflcant-looking 
person, who evidently disliked the notice his late ap- 
pearance drew upon himself. 

“Mr. Tinkler,” said the doctor in his most awful 
voice, “ if it were my custom to rebuke my assistants 
before the school (which it is not), I should feel forced 
to remind you that this tardiness in rising is a bad 
beginning of the day’s work, and sets a bad example to 
those under your authority.” 


94 


VICE VERSA. 


Mr. Tinkler made no articulate reply, but sat down 
with a crushed expression, and set himself to devour 
bread and butter with an energy which he hoped would 
divert attention from his blushes ; and almost immedi- 
ately the doctor looked at his v^atch, and said, “^ow, 
boys, you have half-an-hour for ‘ chevy ’ — ^make the most 
of it. V/'hen you come in I shall have something to say 
to you all. Don’t rise, Mr. Tinkler, unless you have 
quite finished.” 

Mr. Tinkler preferred leaving his breakfast to con- 
tinuing it under the trying ordeal of his principal’s in- 
spection. So, hastily murmuring that he had made an 
excellent breakfast ” — which he had not — ^he followed 
the others, who clattered upstairs to put on their boots 
and go out into the playground. 

It was noticeable that they did so without much of 
the enthusiasm which might be looked for from boys 
dismissed to their sports. But the fact was that this 
particular sport “ chevy,” commonly known as “ prison- 
ers’ base,” was by no means a popular amusement, being 
of a somewhat monotonous nature, and calling for no 
special skill on the part of the performers. Besides 
this, moreover, it had the additional disadvantage 
(which would have been fatal to a far more fascinat- 
ing diversion (of being in a great measure compul- 
sory. 

Football and cricket were of course reserved for 
half-holidays, and played in a neighboring field rented 
by the doctor, and in the playground he restricted them 
to “chevy,” which he considered, rightly enough, both 
gave them abundant exercise and kept them out of 
mischief. Accordingly, if any adventurous spirit started 
a rival game, it was usually abandoned sooner or later in 


DISGRACE. 


95 


I deference to suggestions from headquarters which were 
not intended to be disregarded. 

This, though undoubtedly well meant, did not serve 
to stimulate their affection for the game, an excellent 
one in, moderation, but one which, if played by special 
desire ” two or three hours a day for weeks in succes- 
siony is apt to lose its freshness and pall upon the youth- 
ful mind. 

It was a bright morning. There had been a hard 
frost during the night, and the ground was hard, spar- 
kling with rime and ringing to the foot. The air was 
keen and invigorating, and the bare, black branches of 
the trees were outlined clear and sharp against the pale, 
pure blue of the morning sky. 

Just the weather for a long day’s skating over the 
dark-green glassy ice, or a bracing tramp on country 
roads into cheery, red-roofed market towns. But now 
it had lost all power to charm. It was only depressing 
by the contrast between the boundless liberty suggested 
and the dull reality of a round of uninteresting work 
which was all it heralded. 

So they lounged listlessly about, gravitating finally 
toward the end of the playground, where a deep furrow 
marked the line of the base. There was no attempt to 
play. They stood gossiping in knots, grumbling and 
stamping their feet to keep warm. By-and-by the day- 
boarders began to drop in one by one, several of them, 
from a want of tact in adapting themselves to the gen- 
eral tone, earning decided unpopularity at once by a 
cheerful briskness, and an undisguised satisfaction at 
having something definite to do once more. 

If Mr. Tinkler, who had joined one of the groups, 
had not particularly distinguished himself at breakfast, 


96 


VICE VERSl. 


lie made ample amends now, and by tbe grandeur and 
manliness of his conversation succeeded in producing a 
decided impression upon some of the smaller boys. 

“ The bore of a place like this, you know,” he was 
saying, with magnificent disdain, “is that a fellow can’t 
have his pipe of a morning. I’ve been used to it, and 
so, of course, I miss it. If I chose to insist on it. Grim- 
stone couldn’t say anything ; but with a lot of young 
fellows like you, you see, it wouldn’t look well! ” 

It could hardly have looked worse than little Mr. 
Tinkler himself would have done, if he had ventured 
upon more than the mildest of cigarettes, for he was a 
poor but pertinacious smoker, and his love for the weed 
was chastened by wholesome fear. There, however, he 
was in no danger of betraying this, and indeed it would 
have been injudicious to admit it. 

“Talking of smoking,” he went on, with a soft 
chuckle, as at recollections of unspeakable devilry, “ did 
I ever tell you chaps of a tremendous scrape I very 
nearly got into up at the ’Varsity ? Well, you must 
know there’s a foolish rule there against smoking in the 
streets. Not that that made any difference to some of 
us! Well, one night about nine, I was strolling down 
Petty Cury with two other men, smoking (Bosher of 
‘ Pothouse,’ and Peebles of ‘ Cats,’ both pretty well 
known up there for general rowdiness, you know — 
dear old friends of mine !) and, just as we turned the 
corner, who should we see coming straight down on 
us but a proctor with his bull-dogs (not dogs, you 
know, but the strongest ‘gyps’ in college). Bosher 
said ‘ Let’s cut it ! ’ and he and Peebles bolted. (They 
were neither of them funks, of course, but they lost 
their heads.) I went calmly on, smoking my cigar as if 


DISGRACE. 


97 


nothing was the matter. That put the proctor in a bait, 
I can tell you ! He came fuming up to me. ‘ What do 
you mean, sir,’ says he, quite pale with anger (he was a 
great, bull-headed fellow, one of the strongest dons 

of his year, that’s why they made him a proctor) 

‘ what do mean by breaking the University statutes in 
this way ? ’ ‘ It is a fine evening,’ said I (I was deter- 

mined to keep cool). ‘Do you mean to insult me?’ 
said he. ‘ Ho, old boy,’ said I, ‘ I don’t; have a cigar ? ’ 
He couldn’t stand that, so he called up his bull-dogs. 
‘I give him in charge! ’he screamed out. ‘I’ll have 
him sent down! ’ ‘I’ll send you down first,’ said I, and 
I just gave him a push — I never meant to hurt the fel- 
low — and over he went. I rolled over a bull-dog to 
keep him company, and, as the other fellow didn’t want 
any more and stood aside to let me pass, I finished my 
stroll and my cigar.” 

“Was the proctor hurt, sir?” inquired a small boy 
with great respect. 

“ More frightened than hurt, I always said,” said Mr. 
Tinkler lightly, “ but somehow he never would proctor- 
ize any more — it spoilt his nerve. He was a good deal 
chaffed about it, but of course no one ever knew I’d 
had anything to do with it ! ” 

With such tales of Homeric exploit did Mr. Tinkler 
inculcate a spirit of discipline and respect for authority. 
But although he had indeed once encountered a proctor, 
and at night, he did himself great injustice by this ver- 
sion of the proceedings, which were, as a matter of fact, 
of a most peaceable and law-abiding character, and, 
though followed by a pecuniary transaction the next 
day in which six-and-eightpence changed pockets, the 
proctors continued their duties much as before, while 
6 


98 


VICE VEKSA. 


Mr. Tinkler’s feelings toward them, which had ever 
been reverential in the extreme, were, if anything, in- 
tensified by the experience. 

Upon this incident, however, he had gradually em- 
broidered the above exciting episode, until he grew to 
believe at intervals that he really had been a devil of a 
fellow in his time, which, to do him justice, was far 
from the case. 

He might have gone on still further to calumniate 
himself, and excite general envy and admiration thereby, 
if at that moment Ur. Grimstone had not happened to 
appear at the head of the cast-iron staircase that led 
down into the playground ; whereupon Mr. Tinkler af- 
fected to be intensely interested in the game, which, as 
a kind of involuntary compliment to the principal, about 
this time was galvanized into a sort of vigor. 

But the doctor, after frowning gloomily down upon 
them for a minute or so, suddenly called “ All in ! ” 

He had several ways of saying this. Sometimes he 
would do so in a half -regretful tone, as one himself obey- 
ing the call of duty ; sometimes he would appear for 
some minutes, a benignant spectator, upon the balcony, 
and summon them to work at length with a lenient pity 
— for he was by no means a hard-hearted man ; but at 
other times he would step sharply and suddenly out 
and shout the word of command with a grim and omi- 
nous expression. On these last occasions the school 
generally prepared itself for a rather formidable quarter 
of an hour. 

This was the case now, and, as a further portent, Mr. 
Blinkhorn was observed to come down and, after a few 
words with Mr. Tinkler, withdraw with him through 
the school gate. 


DISGRACE. 


99 


‘‘He’s sent them out for a walk,” said Siggers, who 
was skilled in omens. “It’s a row ! ” 

Rows at Crichton House, although periodical, and 
therefore things to be forearmed against in some de- 
gree, were serious matters. Dr. Grimstone was a quick- 
tempered man, with a copious flow of words and a taste 
for indulging it. He was also strongly prejudiced 
against many breaches of discipline which others might 
have considered trifling, and whenever he had discov- 
ered any such breach he could not rest until by all the 
means in his power he had ascertained exactly how 
many were implicated in the offense, and to what extent. 

His usual method of doing this was to summon the 
school formally together and deliver an elaborate ha- 
rangue, during which he worked himself by degrees into 
such a state of indignation that his hearers were most of 
them terrified out of their senses, and very often con- 
science-stricken offenders would give themselves up as 
hopelessly detected and reveal transgressions altogether 
unsuspected by him — much as a net brings up fish of all 
degrees of merit, or as heavy firing will raise drowned 
corpses to the surface. 

Paul naturally knew nothing of this peculiarity ; he 
had kept himself as usual apart from the others, and 
was now trying to compel himself to brave the terrors 
of an avowal at the first opportunity. He followed the 
others up the steps with an uneasy wonder whether, 
after all, he would not find himself ignominiously set 
down to learn lessons. 

The boys filed into the schoolroom in solemn silence, 
and took their seats at the desks and along the brown 
tables. The doctor was there before them, standing up 
with one elbow resting upon a reading-stand, and with 


100 


VICE YERSl. 


a suggestion of coming thunder in his look and attitude 
that, combined with the oppressive silence, made some 
of the hoys feel positively ill. 

Presently he began. He said that, since they had 
come together again, he had made a discovery concern- 
ing one among them which, astounding as it was to 
him, and painful as he felt it to be compelled to make 
it known, concerned them all to be aware of. 

Mr. Bultitude could scarcely believe his ears. His 
secret was discovered, then ; the injury done him by 
Dick about to be repaired, and open restitution and 
apology offered him ! It was not perhaps precisely 
delicate on the doctor’s part to make so public an affair 
of it, but, so long as it ended well, he could afford to 
overlook that. 

So he settled himself comfortably on a form with 
his back against a desk and his legs crossed, his expres- 
sion indicating plainly that he knew what was coming, 
and, on the whole, approved of it. 

‘‘ Ever since I have devoted myself to the cause of 
tuition,” continued the doctor, ‘‘I have made it my 
object to provide boys under my roof with fare so 
abundant and so palatable that they should have no 
excuse for obtaining extraneous luxuries. I have pre- 
sided myself at their meals, I have superintended their 
very sports with a fatherly eye — ” 

Here he paused, and fixed one or two of those near- 
est him with the fatherly eye in such a manner that 
they writhed with confusion. 

“ He’s wandering from the point,” thought Paul, a 
little puzzled. 

“I have done all this on one understanding — that 
the robustness of your constitutions, acquired by the 


DISGRACE. 


101 


plain, simple, but abundant regimen of my table, shall 
not be tampered with by the indulgence in any of the 
pampering products of confectionery. They are abso- 
lutely and unconditionally prohibited — as every boy 
who hears me now knows perfectly well ! ’’ 

“And yet” (here he began gradually to relax his 
self-restraint and lash himself into a frenzy of indig- 
nation), “ what do I find ? There are some natures so 
essentially base, so incapable of being affected by kind- 
ness, so dead to honor and generosity, that they will 
not scruple to conspire or set themselves individually 
to escape and baffle the wise precautions undertaken for 
their benefit. I will not name the dastards at present 
— they themselves can look into their hearts and see 
their guilt reflected there — ” 

At this every boy, beginning to see the tendency of 
his denunciations, tried hard to assume an air of con- 
scious innocence and grieved interest, the majority 
achieving conspicuous failure. 

“ I do not like to think,” said Dr. Grimstone, 
“ that the evil has a wider existence than I yet know 
of. It may be so ; nothing will surprise me now. 
There may be some before me trembling with the 
consciousness of secret guilt. If so, let those boys 
make the only reparation in their power, and give 
themselves up in an honorable and straightforward 
manner ! ” 

To this invitation, which indeed resembled that of 
the duck-destroying Mrs. Bond, no one made any re- 
sponse. They had grown too wary, and now preferred 
to play a waiting game. 

“ Then let the being — for I will not call him boy — 
who is known to me, step forth and confess his fault 


102 


VICE VEESl. 


publicly, and sue for pardon ! ” thundered the doctor, 
now warmed to his theme. 

But the being declined from a feeling of modesty, 
and a faint hope that somebody else might, after all, 
be the person aimed at. 

‘‘ Then I name him ! ” stormed Dr. Grimstone ; 
“ Cornelius Coggs — stand up ! ” 

Coggs half rose in a limp manner, whimpering 
feebly, ‘‘ Me, sir ? Oh, please sir— no, not me, sir ! ” 
“Yes, you, sir, and let your companions regard you 
with the contempt and abhorrence you so richly merit ! ” 
Here, needless to say, the whole school glared at poor 
Coggs with as much virtuous indignation as they could 
summon up at such short notice ; for contempt is very 
infectious when communicated from high quarters. 

“ So, Coggs,” said the doctor, with a slow and with- 
ering scorn, “ so you thought to defy me ; to smuggle 
compressed illness and concentrated unhealthiness into 
this school with impunity ? You flattered yourself that, 
after I had once confiscated your contraband poisons, 
you would hear no more of it ! You deceived your- 
self, sir ! I tell you, once for all, that I will not allow 
you to contaminate your innocent schoolmates with 
your gifts of surreptitious sweetmeats ; they shall not 
be perverted with your pernicious peppermints, sir ; 
you shall not deprave them by the subtle and insidious 
jujube, or by the cheap but cloying Turkish Delight ! 
I will not expose myself or them to the inroads of dis- 
ease invited here by a hypocritical inmate of my walls. 
The traitor shall have his reward ! ” 

All of which simply meant that the doctor, having 
once had a small boy taken seriously ill from the effects 
of overeating himself, was naturally anxious to avoid 


DISGRACE. 


103 


such an inconvenience for the future. “ Thanks to the 
fearless honesty of a youth,” continued the doctor, 
“ who, in an eccentric manner certainly, but with, I do 
not doubt, the best of motives, opened my eyes to the 
fell evil, I am enabled to cope with it at its birth. 
Richard Bultitude, I take this occasion of publicly 
thanking and commending you ; your conduct was 
noble ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude was too angry and disappointed to 
speak. He had thought his path was going to be made 
smooth, and now all this ridiculous fuss was being made 
about a few peppermint lozenges. He wished he had 
never mentioned them. It was not the last time he 
breathed that wish. “As for you, Coggs,” said the 
doctor, suddenly producing a little brown cane, “ I shall 
make a public example of you.” 

Coggs stared idiotically and protested, but after a 
short and painful scene was sent off up to his bedroom, 
yelping like a kicked puppy. 

“ One word more,” said the doctor, now almost calm 
again. “I know that you all think with me in your 
horror of the treachery I have just exposed. I know 
that you would scorn to participate in it.” (A thrill 
and murmur, expressive of intense horror and scorn, 
went round the benches.) “ You are anxious to prove 
that you do so beyond a doubt.” (Again a murmur of 
assent.) “ I give you all that opportunity. I have im- 
plicit trust and confidence in you — let every boarder go 
down into the box-room and fetch up his playbox, just 
as it is, and open it here before me.” 

There was a general fall of jaws at this very unex- 
pected conclusion ; but, contriving to overcome their 
dismay, they went outside and down through the play- 


104 


VICE VERSl. 


ground into the box-room, Paul among the rest, and, 
amid universal confusion, every one opened his box, 
and, with a consideration especially laudable in heedless 
boyhood, thoughtfully and carefully removed from it 
all such dainties as might be calculated to shock or 
pain their preceptor. 

Mr. Bultitude found a key which was labeled 
play-box,” and began to open a box which bore Dick’s 
initials cut upon the lid ; without any apprehensions, 
however, for he had given too strict orders to his 
daughter, to fear that any luxuries would be concealed 
there. 

But no sooner had he raised the lid than he stag- 
gered back with disgust. It was crammed with cakes, 
butter-scotch, hardbake, pots of jam, and even a bottle 
of ginger wine — enough to compromise a chameleon ! 

He set himself to pitch them all out as soon as pos- 
sible with feverish haste, but Tipping was too quick 
for him. ‘‘ Hallo ! ” he cried ; “ oh, I say, you fellows, 
come here ! Just look at this ! Here’s this impudent 
young beggar, who sneaked of poor old Coggs for 
sucking jujubes, and very nearly got us all into a jolly 
good row, with his own box full all the time ; butter- 
scotch, if you please, and jam, and ginger wine ! You’ll 
just put ’em all back again, will you, you young hum- 
bug ! ” 

‘‘ Do you use those words to me, sir ? ” said Paul, 
angrily, for he did not like to be called a humbug. 

“ Yes, sir, please, sir,” jeered Tipj^ing ; I did ven- 
ture to take such a liberty, sir.” 

Then it was like your infernal impudence,” growled 
Paul. “You be kind enough to leave my affairs alone. 
Upon my word, what boys are coming to nowadays ! ” 


DISGRACE. 


105 


“ Are you going to put that tuck back ? ” said Tip- 
ping impatiently. 

“ No, sir, I’m not. Don’t interfere with what you’re 
not expected to understand ! ” 

“Well, if you won’t,” said Tipping easily, “I 
suppose we must. Biddlecomb, kindly knock him 
down, and sit on his head while I fill his playhox for 
him.” 

This was neatly and quickly done. Biddlecomb 
tripped Mr. Bultitude up, and sat firmly on him, while 
Tipping carefully replaced the good things in Dick’s 
box, after which he locked it, and courteously returned 
the key. “ As the box is heavy,” he said, with a wicked 
wink, “ I’ll carry it up for you myself,” which he did, 
Paul following, more dead than alive, and too shaken 
even to expostulate. 

“ Bultitude’s box was rather too heavy for him, sir,” 
he explained as he came in ; and Dr. Grimstone, who 
had quite recovered his equanimity, smiled indulgently, 
and remarked that he “ liked to see the strong assisting 
the weak.” 

Ail the boxes had by this time been brought up, and 
were ranged upon the tables, while the doctor went 
round, making an almost formal inspection, like a Cus- 
tom House officer searching compatriots, and becoming 
milder and milder as box after box opened to reveal a 
fair and innocent interior. 

Paul’s turn was coming very near, and his heart 
seemed to shrivel like a burst bladder. He fumbled 
with his key, and tried hard to lose it. It was terrible to 
have one’s self to apply the match which is to blow one 
to the winds. If — if — the idea was almost too horrible 
— but if he, a blameless and respectable city merchant, 


106 


VICE VERSl. 


were actually to find himself served like the miserable 
Coggs ! 

At last the doctor actually stood by him. ^‘Well, 
my boy,” he said, not unkindly, ‘‘ I’m not afraid of any- 
thing wrong here, at any rate.” 

Mr. Bultitude, who had the best reasons for not 
sharing his confidence, made some inarticulate sounds, 
and pretended to have a difficulty in turning the key. 

“ Eh ? Come, open the box,” said the doctor with 
an altered manner. “ What are you fumbling at it for 
in this — this highly suspicious manner? I’ll open it 
myself.” 

He took the key and opened the lid, when the cakes 
and wine stood revealed in all their damning profusion. 
The doctor stepped back dramatically. “ Hardbake ! ” 
he gasped ; “ wine, pots of strawberry jam ! Oh, Bulti- 
tude, this is well — vastly well indeed ! So I have nour- 
ished one more viper in my bosom, have I ? A crawl- 
ing reptile which curries favor by denouncing the very 
crime it conceals in its playbox ! Oh, this is black du- 
plicity ! Bultitude, I was not prepared for this ! ” 

“I — I swear I never put them in ! ” protested the 
unhappy Paul. “ I — I never touch such things ; they 
would bring on my gout in half an hour. It’s ridiculous 
to punish me. I never knew they were there ! ” 

“ Then why were you so anxious to avoid opening 
the box?” rejoined the Doctor. “ Ho, sir, you’re too 
ingenious ; your guilt is clear. Go to your dormitory, 
and wait there till I come to you ! ” 

Paul went upstairs, feeling utterly abandoned and 
helpless. Though a word as to his real character might 
have saved him, he could not have said it, and, worse 
still, knew now that he could not. 


DISGRACE. 


107 


“ I shall be caned,” be told bimself, and tbe tbongbt 
nearly drove bim mad. ‘‘ I know I shall be caned ! 
What on earth shall I do ? ” 

He opened the door of his bedroom. Coggs was 
rocking and moaning on his bed in one corner of the 
room, but looked up with red, furious eyes as Paul 
came in. 

“ What do you want up here ? ” he said savagely. 
“ Go away, can’t you ! ” 

wish I could go away,” said Paul dolefully; 
“ but I’m — hum — I’m sent up here too,” he explained, 
with some natural embarrassment. 

“ What ! ” cried Coggs, slipping off his bed and 
staring wildly : “ you don’t mean to say you’re going to 
catch it too ? ” 

‘‘ I’ve — ah — every reason to fear,” said Mr. Bultitude 
stiffly, “ that I am indeed going to ‘ catch it,’ as you 
call it.” 

“ Hooray ! ” shouted Coggs hysterically : “ I don’t 
care now. And I’ll have some revenge on my own ac- 
count as well. I don’t mind an extra licking, and 
you’re in for one as it is. Will you stand up to me or 
not ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t understand you,” said Paul. ‘‘ Don’t come 
so near. Keep off, you young demon, will you ! ” he 
cried presently, as Coggs, exasperated by all his wrongs, 
was rushing at him with an evidently hostile intent. 
‘‘ There, don’t be annoyed, my good boy,” he pleaded, 
catching up a chair as a bulwark. ‘‘ It was a misunder- 
standing. I wish you no harm. There, my dear young 
friend ! Don’t ! ” 

The dear young friend ” was grappling with him 
and attempting to wrest the chair away by brute force. 


108 


VICE VERSA. 


“ When I get at you,” he said, his hot breath hissing 
through the chair rungs, “ I’ll give you the very warm- 
est spanking you ever heard of ! ” 

“ Murder ! ” Paul gasped, feeling his hold on the 
chair relaxing. ‘‘ Unless help comes, this young fiend 
will have my blood ! ” 

They were revolving slowly round the chair, watch- 
ing each other’s eyes like gladiators, when Paul noticed 
a sudden blankness and fixity in his antagonist’s expres- 
sion, and, looking round, saw Dr. Grimstone’s awful 
form framed in the doorway, and gave himself up for 
lost. 


CHAPTER VI. 


LEAENING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

“I subscribe to Lucian: ’tis an elegant thing which clcareth up the 
mind, exerciseth the body, delights the spectators, which teacheth 
many comely gestures, equally affecting the ears, eyes, and soul it- 
selt'.” — Burton^ on Dancing. 

“What is this?” asked Dr. Grimstone, in his most 
blood-curdling tone, after a most impressive pause at 
the dormitory door. 

Mr. Bultitude held his tongue, but kept fast hold of 
his chair, which he held before him as a defense against 
either party, while Coggs remained motionless in the 
center of the room, with crooked knees and hands dan- 
gling impotently. 

“ Will one of you be good enough to explain how 
you come to be found struggling in this unseemly man- 
ner ? I sent you up here to meditate on your past be- 
havior.” 

“ I should be most happy to meditate, sir,” protested 
Paul, lowering his chair on discovering that there was 
no immediate danger, “ if that — that bloodthirsty young 
ruffian there would allow me to do so. I am going 
about in bodily fear of him. Dr. Grimstone. I want 
him bound over to keep the peace. I decline to be left 
alone with him — he’s not safe ! ” 

“ Is that so, Coggs ? Are you mean and base enough 


110 


VICE VERSA. 


to take this cowardly revenge on a boy who has had 
the moral courage to expose your deceit — for your ulti- 
mate good — a boy who is unable to defend himself 
against you ? ” 

‘‘ He can fight when he chooses, sir,” said Coggs ; 
he blacked my eye last term, sir ! ” 

“ I assure you,” said Paul, with the convincing earn- 
estness of truth, that I never blacked anybody’s eye 
in the whole course of my life. I am not — ah — a pug- 
nacious man. My age, and — hum — my position, ought 
to protect me from these scandals — ” 

“You’ve come back this year, sir,” said Dr. Grim- 
stone, “ with a very odd way of talking of yourself — an 
exceedingly odd way. Unless I see you abandoning it 
and behaving like a reasonable boy again, I shall be 
forced to conclude you intend some disrespect and open 
defiance by it.” 

“ If you would allow me an opportunity of explain- 
ing my position, sir,” said Paul, “ I would undertake to 
clear your mind directly of such a monstrous idea. I 
am trying to assert my rights. Dr. Grimstone — my 
rights as a citizen, as a householder ! This is no place 
for me, and I appeal to you to set me free. If you only 
knew one tenth — ” 

“ Let us understand one another, Bultitude,” inter- 
rupted the doctor. “You may think it an excellent 
joke to talk nonsense to me like this. But let me tell 
you there is a point where a jest becomes an insult. 
I’ve spared you hitherto out of consideration for the 
feelings of your excellent father, who is so anxious that 
you should become an object of pride and credit to 
him ; but, if you dare to treat me to any more of this 
bombast about ‘ explaining your rights,’ you will force 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


Ill 


me to exercise one of mine — the right to inflict corporal 
punishment, sir — which you have just seen in operation 
upon another.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Bultitude faintly, feeling utterly 
crestfallen — and he could say nothing more. 

“ As for those illicit luxuries in your playbox,” con- 
tinued the doctor, ‘‘ the fact that you brought the box 
up as it was is in your favor ; and I am inclined on re- 
flection to overlook the affair, if you can assure me that 
you were no party to their being put there ? ” 

“ On the contrary,” said Paul, “ I gave the strictest 
orders that there was to be no such useless extravagance. 
I objected to have the kitchen and housekeeper’s room 
ransacked to make a set of rascally boys ill for a fort- 
night at my expense ! ” 

The doctor stared slightly at this creditable but un- 
natural view of the subject. However, as he could not 
quarrel with the sentiment, he let the manner of ex- 
pressing it pass unrebuked for the present, and, after 
sentencing Coggs to two days’ detention and the copy- 
ing of innumerable French verbs, he sent the ill-matched 
pair down to the schoolroom to join their respective 
classes. 

Paul went resignedly downstairs and into the room, 
where he found Mr. Blinkhorn at the head of one of the 
long tables, taking a class of about a dozen boys. 

“Take your Livy and Latin Primer, Bultitude,” 
said Mr. Blinkhorn, mildly, “and sit down.” 

Mr. Blinkhorn was a tall, angular man, with a long 
neck and slightly drooping head. He had thin, wiry 
brown hair, and a plain face, with shortsighted, kind 
brown eyes. In character he was mild and reserved, 
too conscientious to allow himself the luxury of cither 


112 


VICE VERSl. 


favorites or aversions among the boys, all of whom in 
his secret soul he probably disliked about equally, 
though he neither said nor did anything to show it. 

Paul took a book — any book, for he did not know 
or care to know one from another — and sat down at the 
end farthest from the master, inwardly rebelling at hav- 
ing education thus forced upon him at his advanced 
years, but seeing no escape. 

“ At dinner time,” he resolved, desperately, “ I will 
insist on speaking out, but just now it is simply prudent 
to humor them.” 

The rest of the class drew away from him with 
marked coldness, and occasionally saluted him (when 
Mr. Blinkhorn’s attention was called away) with terms 
and grimaces which Paul, although he failed to thor- 
oughly understand them, felt instinctively were not in- 
tended as compliments. 

Mr. Blinkhorn’s notions of discipline were qualified 
by a gentleman’s instinct which forbade him to harass a 
boy already in trouble, as he understood young Bulti- 
tude had been, and so he forebore from pressing him to 
take any share in the class work. 

Mr. Bultitude, therefore, was saved from any neces- 
sity of betraying his total ignorance of his author, and 
sat gloomily on the hard form, impatiently watching 
the minute-hand skulk round the mean, dull face of the 
clock above the chimney-piece, while around him one 
boy after another droned out a listless translation of the 
work before him, interrupted by mild corrections and 
comments from the master. 

What a preposterous change from all his ordinary 
habits ! At this very time, only twenty-four hours 
since, he was stepping slowly and majestically toward 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


113 


his accustomed omnibus, which was waiting with defer- 
ence for him to overtake it ; he was taking his seat, 
saluted respectfully by the conductor and cheerily by 
his fellow-passengers, as a man of recognized mark and 
position. 

Now that omnibus would halt at the corner of West- 
bourne Terrace in vain, and go on its way Bankward 
without him. He was many miles away — in the very 
last place where any one would be likely to look for 
him, occupying the post of “ whipping-boy ” to his mis- 
erable son ! 

Was ever an inoffensive and respectable old gentle- 
man placed in a more false and ridiculous position ? 

If he had only kept his drawer locked, and hidden 
the abominable Garuda Stone away from Dick’s prying 
eyes ; if he had let the moralizing alone ; if Boaler had 
not been so long fetching that cab, or if he had not 
happened to faint at the critical moment — what an im- 
mense difference any one of these apparent trifles would 
have made ! 

And now, what was he to do to get out of this in- 
congruous and distasteful place ? It was all very well 
to say that he had only to insist upon a hearing from 
the doctor ; but what if, as he had very grave reason 
to fear, the doctor should absolutely refuse to listen, 
should even proceed to carry out his horrible threat ? 
Must he remain there till the holidays came to release 
him ? Suppose Dick — as he certainly would unless he 
was quite a fool — declined to receive him during the 
holidays ? It was absolutely necessary to return home 
at once ; every additional hour he passed in imprison- 
ment made it harder to regain his lost self. 

Now and then he roused himself from all these 


114 


VICE VERSl. 


gloomy thoughts to observe his companions. The boys 
at the upper end, near Mr. Blinkhorn, were fairly atten- 
tive, and he noticed one small, smug-faced boy, about 
half-way up, who, while a class-mate was faltering and 
blundering over some question, would stretch out a 
snapping finger and thumb, and cry, “ I know, sir. Let 
me tell him. Ask me, sir ! ” in a restless agony of su- 
perior information. 

Down by Paul, however, the discipline was relaxed 
enough, as perhaps could only be expected on the first 
day of terra. One wild-eyed, long-haired boy had 
brought out a small china figure, with which, and the 
assistance of his right hand draped in a pocket-hand- 
kerchief, and wielding a pen-holder, he was busy enact- 
ing a drama based on the lines of Punch and Judy, to 
the breathless amusement of his neighbors. 

Mr. Bultitude might have hoped to escape notice by 
a policy of judicious self-effacement, but, unhappily, his 
long, blank, uninterested face was held by his compan- 
ions to bear an implied reproach, and being delicately 
sensitive on these points they kicked his legs viciously, 
which made him extremely glad when dinner-time came, 
although he felt too faint and bilious to be tempted 
by anything but the lightest and daintiest luncheon. 

But at dinner he found, with a shudder, that he was 
expected to swallow a thick, ragged section of boiled 
mutton, which had been carved and helped so long be- 
fore he sat down to it that the stagnant gravy was 
chilled and congealed into patches of greasy white. 

He managed to swallow it, with many pauses of in- 
vincible disgust, only to find it replaced by a solid slab 
of pale-brown suet-pudding, sparsely bedewed with 
unctuous black treacle. 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


115 


This, though a plentiful, and by no means unwhole- 
some fare for growing hoys, was not what he had been 
accustomed to, and, feeling far too heavy and unwell 
after it to venture upon an encounter with the doctor, 
he wandered slow and melancholy round the bare, grav- 
eled playground, during the half-hour after dinner 
devoted to the inevitable “ chevy,” until the doctor 
appeared at the head of the staircase. 

It is always sad for the historian to have to record 
a departure from principle, and I have to confess with 
shame, on Mr. Bultitude’s account, that, feeling the 
doctor’s eye upon him, and striving to propitiate him, 
he humiliated himself so far as to run about with an 
elaborate affectation of zest, and his exertions were re- 
warded by hearing himself cordially encouraged to fur- 
ther efforts. 

It cheered and emboldened him. “ I’ve put him in 
a good temper,” he told himself ; if I can only keep 
him in one till the evening, I really think I might be 
able to go up and tell him what a ridiculous mess I’ve 
got into. Why should I care, after all ? At least I’ve 
done nothing to be ashamed of. It’s an accident that 
might have happened to any man ! ” 

It is a curious and unpleasant thing that, however 
reassuring and convincing the arguments may be with 
which we succeed in bracing ourselves to meet or disre- 
gard unpleasantness, the force of those arguments sel- 
dom or never outlasts the frame of mind in which they 
are composed, and, when the unpleasantness is at hand, 
there we are, just as unreasonably alarmed at it as ever. 

Mr. Bultitude’s confidence faded away almost as 
soon as he found himself in the schoolroom again. He 
found himself assigned to a class at one end of the room. 


116 


VICE VERSA. 


wliere Mr. Tinkler presently introduced a new rule in 
Algebra to them, in such a manner as to procure for it 
a lasting unpopularity with all those who were not too 
much engaged in drawing duels and railway trains upon 
their slates to attend. 

Although Paul did not draw upon his slate, his utter 
ignorance of Algebra prevented him from being much 
edified by the cabalistic signs on the blackboard, which 
Mr. Tinkler seemed to chalk up dubiously, and rub out 
again as soon as possible, with an air of being ashamed 
of them. So he tried to nerve himself for the coming 
ordeal by furtively watching and studying the doctor, 
who was taking a Xenophon class at the upper end of 
the room, and, being in fairly good humor, was com- 
bining instruction with amusement, in a manner pecu- 
liarly his own. 

He stopped the construing occasionally, to illustrate 
some word or passage by an anecdote ; he condescended 
to enliven the translation here and there by a familiar 
and colloquial paraphrase ; he magnanimously refrained 
from pressing any obviously inconvenient questions, 
and his manner, generally, was marked by a geniality 
which was additionally piquant from its extreme un- 
certainty. 

Mr. Bultitude could not help thinking it a rather 
ghastly form of gayety, but he hoped it might last. 

Presently, however, some one brought him a long 
blue envelope on a tray. He read it, and a frown gath- 
ered on his face. The boy who was translating at the 
time went on again in his former slipshod manner 
(which had hitherto provoked only jovial criticism and 
correction) with complete self-complacency, but found 
himself sternly brought to book, and burdened by a 


LEARNINa AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 

heavy imposition, before he quite realized that his blun- 
ders had ceased to amuse. 

Then began a season of sore trial and tribulation for 
the class. The doctor suddenly withdrew the light of 
his countenance from them, and sunshine was succeeded 
by blackest thunder- clouds. The wind was no longer 
tempered to the more closely shorn of the flock ; the 
weakest vessels were put on unexpectedly at crucial 
passages, and, coming hopelessly to grief, were de- 
nounced as impostors and idlers, till half the class was 
dissolved in tears. 

A few of the better grounded stood the fire, like a 
remnant of the Old Guard in the Peninsula. With faces 
pale from alarm, and trembling voices, but perfect accu- 
racy, they answered all the doctor’s searching inquiries 
after the paradigms of Greek verbs that seemed irregu- 
lar to the verge of impropriety. 

Paul saw it all with renewed misgiving. “If I were 
there,” he thought, “ I should have been run out and 
flogged long ago ! How angry those stupid young 
idiots are making him ? How can I go up and speak 
to him when he’s like that ? And yet I must. I’m sit- 
ting on dynamite as it is. The very first time they 
want me to answer any questions from some of their 
books, I shall be ruined ! Why wasn’t T better edu- 
cated when I was a boy, or why didn’t I make a better 
use of my opportunities ! It will be a bitter thing if 
they thrash me for not knowing as much as Dick. 
Grimstone’s coming this way now ; it’s all over with me ! 

The Greek class had managed to repel the enemy, 
with some loss to themselves, and the doctor now left 
his place for a moment, and came down toward the 
bench on which Paul sat trembling. 


118 


VICE VERSA. 


The storm, however, had passed over for the present, 
and he only said, with restored calmness, ‘‘ Who were 
the boys who learned dancing last term ? ” 

One or two of them said they had done so, and Dr. 
Grimstone continued : “ Mr. Burdekin was unable to 
give you the last lesson of his course last term, and has 
arranged to take you to-day, as he will be in the neigh- 
borhood. So be off at once to Mrs. Grimstone and 
change your shoes. Bultitude, you learned last term, 
too. Go with the others.” 

Mr. Bultitude was too overcome by this unexpected 
attack to contradict it, though of course he was quite 
able to do so ; but then, if he had, he must have ex- 
plained all, and he felt strongly that just then was nei- 
ther the time nor the place for particulars. 

It would have been wiser, perhaps, it would cer- 
tainly have brought matters to a crisis, if he could 
have forced himself to tell everything — the whole 
truth in all its outrageous improbability — but he could 
not. 

Let those who feel inclined to blame him for lack of 
firmness consider how difficult and delicate a business 
it must almost of necessity be for any one to declare 
openly, in the teeth of common sense and plain facts, 
that there has been a mistake, and, in point of fact, he 
is not his own son, but his own father. 

“I suppose I must go,” he thought. “I needn't 
dance. Haven’t danced since I was a young man. But 
I can’t afford to offend him just now.” 

And so he followed the rest into a sort of cloak- 
room, where the tall hats which the boys wore on Sun- 
days were all kept on shelves in white bandboxes ; and 
there his hair was brushed, his feet were thrust into 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


119 


very sliiny patent leather shoes, and a pair of kid gloves 
were given out to him to put on. 

The dancing lesson was to he held in the ‘‘ Dining 

o o 

Hall,” from which the savor of mutton had not alto- 
gether departed. When Paul came in he found the 
floor cleared and the tables and forms piled up on one 
side of the room. 

Biddlecomb and Tipping and some of the smaller 
boys were there already, their gloves and shiny shoes 
giving them a feeling of ceremony and constraint which 
they tried to carry off by an uncouth parody of polite- 
ness. 

Siggers was telling stories of the dances he had been 
to in town, and the fine girls, whose step had exactly 
suited his own, and Tipping was leaning gloomily 
against the wall, listening to something Chawner was 
whispering in his ear. 

There was a rustle of dresses down the stairs out- 
side, and two thin little girls, looking excessively proper 
and prim, came in with an elderly gentlewoman, who 
was their governess, and wore a pince-nez, to impart 
the necessary suggestion of a superior intellect. They 
were the Miss Mutlows, sisters of one of the day-board- 
ers, and attended the course by special favor as friends 
of Dulcie’s, who followed them in with a little gleam 
of shy anticipation in her eyes. 

The Miss Mutlows sat stiffly down on a form, one 
on each side of her governess, and all three stared sol- 
emnly at the boys, who began to blush vividly under 
the inspection, to unbutton and rebutton their gloves 
with great care, and to shift from leg to leg in an em- 
barrassed manner. 

Dulcie soon singled out poor Mr. Bultitude, who. 


120 


VICE VEESA. 


mindful of Tipping’s warning, was doing liis very best 
to avoid her. 

She ran straight to him, laid her hand on his arm, 
and looked into his face pleadingly. “ Dick,” she said, 
“ you’re not sulky still, are you ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude had borne a good deal already, and, 
not being remarkably sweet-natured, he shook the little 
mittened hand away, half-petulant and half-alarmed. 
“ I do wish you wouldn’t do this sort of thing in public. 
You’ll compromise me, you know ! ” he said, nerv- 
ously. 

Dulcie opened her gray eyes wide, and then a flush 
came into her cheeks, and she made a little disdainful 
upward movement of her chin. 

“You didn’t mind it once,” she said. “I thought 
you might want to dance with me. You liked to last 
term. But I’m sure I don’t care if you choose to be 
disagreeable. Go and dance with Mary Mutlow if you 
want to, though you did say she danced like a pair of 
compasses, and I shall tell her you said so, too. And 
you know you’re not a good dancer yourself. Are you 
going to dance with Mary ? ” 

Paul stamped. “ I tell you I never dance,” he said. 
“ I can’t dance any more than a lamp-post. You don’t 
seem an ill-natured little girl, but why on earth can’t 
you let me alone ? ” 

Dulcie’s eyes flashed. “You’re a nasty sulky boy,” 
she said, in an angry undertone (all the conversation 
had, of course, been carried on in whispers). “ I’ll 
never speak to you or look at you again. You’re the 
most horrid boy in the school — and the ugliest ! ” 

And she turned proudly away, though any one who 
looked might have seen the fire in her eyes extinguished 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


121 


as she did so. Perhaps Tipping did see it, for he 
scowled at them from his corner. 

There was another sound outside, as of fiddle-strings 
being twanged by the finger, and, as the boys hastily 
formed up in two lines down the center of the room and 
the Miss Mutlows and Dulcie prepared themselves for 
the courtesy of state, there came in a little fat man, 
with mutton-chop whiskers and a white face, upon which 
was written an unalterable conviction that his manners 
and deportment were perfection itself. 

The two rows of boys bent themselves stiffly from 
the back, and Mr. Burdekin returned the compliment by 
an inclusive and stately inclination. 

Good afternoon, madam. Young ladies, I trust I 
find you well. (The courtesy just a leetle lower. Miss 
Mutlow — the right foot less drawn back. Beautiful ! 
Feet closer at the recovery. Perfect !) Young gentle- 
men, good evening. Take your usual places, please, all 
of you, for our preliminary exercises. Now, the chassee 
round the room. Will you lead off, please. Master 
Dummer ; the hands just lightly touching the shoul- 
ders, the head thrown negligently back to balance the 
figure ; the whole deportment easy, but not careless. 
Now, please ! ” 

And, talking all the time with a metrical fluency, he 
scraped a little jig on the violin, while Dummer led off 
a procession which solemnly capered round the room in 
sundry stages of conscious awkwardness. Mr. Bulti- 
tude shuffled along somehow after the rest, with rebel- 
lion at his heart and a deep sense of degradation. “ If 
my clerks were to see me now ! ” he thought. 

After some minutes of this, Mr. Burdekin stopped 
them and directed sets to be formed for The Lancers.” 


122 


VICE VERSA. 


“Master Bultitude,” said Mr. Burdekin, “you will 
take Miss Mutlow, please.” 

“ Thank you,” said Paul, “but — ah — don’t dance.” 

“ Nonsense, nonsense, sir, you are one of my most 
promising pupils. You mustn’t tell me that. Not an- 
other word ! Come, select your partners.” 

Paul had no option. He was paired off with the tall 
and rather angular young lady mentioned, while Dulcie 
looked on pouting, and snubbed Tipping, who humbly 
asked for the pleasure of dancing with her, by declaring 
that she meant to dance with Tom. 

The dance began to a sort of rhythmical accompani- 
ment by Mr. Burdekin, who intoned “ Tops advance, 
retire and cross. Balance at corners. (Very nice. Miss 
Grimstone !) More ‘ abandon,’* Master Chawner ! Lift 
the feet more from the floor. Not so high as that ! 
Oh, dear me ! that last figure over again. And slide 
the feet, oh, slide the feet ! (Master Bultitude, you’re 
leaving out all the steps !) ” 

Paul was dragged, unwilling but unresisting, through 
it all by his partner, who jerked and pushed him into 
his place without a word, being apparently under strict 
orders from the governess not on any account to speak 
to the boys. 

After the dance, the couples promenaded in a stiff 
but stately manner round the room to a dirge-like 
march scraped upon the violin, the boys taking the 
parts of ladies jibbing away from their partners in a 
highly unlady-like fashion, and the boy burdened with 
the companionship of the younger Miss Mutlow walk- 
ing along in a very agony of bashfulness. 

“ I suppose,” thought Paul, as he led the way with 
Miss Mary Mutlow, “ if Hick were ever to hear of this, 


LEARNma AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 123 

he’d think it funny. Oh, if I ever get the upper hand 
of him again — How much longer, I wonder, shall I 
have to play the fool to this infernal fiddle ! ” 

But, if this was bad, worse was to come. 

There was another pause, in which Mr. Burdekin 
said blandly, ‘‘ I wonder now if we have forgotten our 
Scotch hornpipe. Perhaps Master Bultitude will prove 
the contrary. If I remember right, he used to perform 
it with singular correctness. And, let me tell you, there 
are a great number of spurious hornpipe steps in circu- 
lation. Come, sir, oblige me by dancing it alone ! ” 
This was the final straw. It was not to be supposed 
for one moment that Mr. Bultitude would lower his 
dignity in such a preposterous manner. Besides, he did 
not know how to dance the hornpipe. 

So he said, “I shall do nothing of the sort. I’ve 
had quite enough of this — ah — tomfoolery ! ” 

“ That is a very impolite manner of declining. Mas- 
ter Bultitude ; highly discourteous and unpolished. I 
must insist now — really, as a personal matter — upon 
your going through the sailor’s hornpipe. Come, you 
won’t make a scene, I’m sure. You’ll oblige me, as a 
gentleman ? ” 

“ I tell you I can’t ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, sullenly. 
“ I never did such a thing in my life ; it would be 
enough to kill me at my age ! ” 

“ This is untrue, sir. Do you mean to say you will 
not dance the hornpipe ? ” 

“ Ho,” said Paul, “ I’ll be d d if I do ! ” 

There was, unfortunately, no possible doubt about 
the nature of the word used — he said it so very dis- 
tinctly. The governess screamed and called her charges 
to her, Dulcie hid her face, and some of the boys tittered. 


124 


VICE VERSA. 


Mr. Burdekin turned pink. After that disgraceful 
language, sir, in the presence of the fairer sex, I have 
no more to do with you. You will have the goodness 
to stand in the center of that form. Gentlemen, select 
your partners for the Highland schottische ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude, by no means sorry to be freed from 
the irksome necessity of dancing with a heart ill-attuned 
for enjoyment, got up on the form and stood looking, 
sullenly enough, upon the proceedings. The governess 
glowered at him now and then as a monster of youthful 
depravity ; the Miss Mutlows glanced up at him as they 
tripped past, with curiosity not unmixed with admira- 
tion, but Dulcie steadily avoided looking in his direction. 

Paul was just congratulating himself upon his escape, 
when the door opened wide, and the doctor marched 
slowly and imposingly into the room. 

He did this occasionally, partly to superintend mat- 
ters, and partly as an encouraging mark of approbation. 
He looked round the class at first with benignant tolera- 
tion, until his glance took in the bench upon which Mr. 
Bultitude was set up. Then his eye slowly traveled up 
to the level of Paul’s head, his expression changing 
meanwhile to a petrifying glare. 

It was not, as Paul instinctively felt, exactly the 
position in which a gentleman who wished to stand well 
with those in authority over him would prefer to be 
found. He felt his heart turn to water within him, 
and stared limp and helpless at the doctor. 

There was an awful silence (Dr. Grimstone was ad- 
dicted to awful silences ; and, indeed, if seldom strictly 
‘‘golden,” silence may often be called “iron”), but at 
last he inquired, “ And pray what may you be doing up 
there, sir ? ” 


LEARNINa AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


125 


‘^Upon my soul I can’t say,” said Mr. Bultitude, 
feebly. “Ask that gentleman there with the fiddle — 
he knows.” 

Mr. Burdekin was a good-natured, easy-tempered 
little man, and had already forgotten the affront to his 
dignity. He was anxious not to get the boy into more 
trouble. 

“ Master Bultitude was a little inattentive and, I 
may say, wanting in respect. Dr. Grimstone, ” he said, 
putting it as mildly as he could with any accuracy ; 
^‘so I ventured to place him there as a punishment.” 

“ Quite right, Mr. Burdekin, ” said the doctor : 
“ quite right. I am sorry that any boy of mine should 
have caused you to do so. You are again beginning 
your career of disorder and rebellion, are you, sir ? Go 
up into the school-room at once, and write a dozen cop- 
ies before tea-time ! A very little more eccentricity and 
insubordination from you, Bultitude, and you will reap 
a full reward — a full reward, sir ! ” 

So Mr. Bultitude was driven out of the dancing class 
in dire disgrace — which would not have distressed him 
particularly, being only one more drop in his bitter cup 
— but that he recognized that now his hopes of approach- 
ing the doctor with his burden of woe were fallen like 
a card castle. They were fiddled and danced away for 
at least twenty-four hours — perhaps for ever ! 

Bitterly did he brood over this as he slowly and 
laboriously copied out sundry vain repetitions of such 
axioms as, “Cultivate Habits of Courtesy and Self- 
control,” and “ True Happiness is to be sought in Con- 
tentment.” He saw the prospect of a tolerably severe 
flogging growing more and more distinct, and felt that 
he could not present himself to his family with the con- 


126 


VICE VERSl. 


sciousness of having suffered such an indelible disgrace. 
His family ! What would become of them in his ab- 
sence ? Would he ever see his comfortable home in 
Bayswater again ? 

Tea-time came, and after it evening preparation, 
when Mr. Tinkler presided in a feeble and ineffective 
manner, perpetually suspecting that the faint sniggers 
he heard were indulged in at his own expense, and call- 
ing perfectly innocent victims to account for them. 

Paul sat next to Jolland, and, in his desperate anx- 
iety to avoid further unpleasantness, found himself, as 
he could not for his life have written a Latin or a Ger- 
man composition, reduced to copy down his neighbor’s 
exercises. This Jolland (who had looked forward to an 
arrangement of a very opposite kind) nevertheless cheer- 
fully allowed him to do, though he expressed doubts as 
to the wisdom of a servile imitation — more, perhaps, 
from prudence than conscientiousness. 

Jolland, in the intervals of study, was deeply en- 
gaged in the production of a small illustrated work of 
fiction, which he was pleased to call ‘‘The Adventures 
of Ben Buterkin at Scool.” It was in a great measure 
an autobiography, and the cuts depicting the hero’s 
fiagellations — which were frequent in the course of the 
narrative — were executed with much vigor and feeling. 

He turned out a great number of these works in the 
course of the term, as well as faces in pen and ink with 
moving tongues and rolling eyes, and these he would 
present to a few favored friends with a secretive and 
self-depreciatory giggle. 

Amid scenes and companions like these, Paul sat out 
the evening hours on his hard seat, which was just at 
the junction of two forms — an exquisitely uncomfort- 


LEARNING AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 127 

able position, as all wbo have tried it will acknowledge 
— until the time for going to bed came round again. 
He dreaded the hours of darkness, but there was no help 
for it ; to protest would have been madness just then, 
and, once more, he was forced to pass a night under the 
roof of Crichton House. 

It was even worse than the first, though this was 
greatly owing to his own obstinacy. 

The boys, if less subdued, were in better temper than 
the evening before, and found it troublesome to keep up 
a feud when the first flush of resentment had died out. 
There was a general disposition to forget his departure 
from the code of schoolboy honor, and give him an op- 
portunity of retrieving the past. 

But he would not meet them half-way ; his repeated 
repulses by the doctor, and all the difficulties that beset 
his return to freedom, had made him very sulky and 
snappish. He had not patience or adaptability enough 
to respond to their advances, and only shrank from their 
rough good nature — which naturally checked the cur- 
rent of good feeling. 

Then, when the lights were put out, some one de- 
manded a story. Most of the bedrooms possessed a 
professional story-teller, and in one there wa§ a young 
romancist who began a stirring history the very first 
night of the term, which always ran on until the night 
before the holidays, and, if his hearers were apt to yawn 
at the sixth week of it, he himself enjoyed and believed 
in it keenly from beginning to end. 

Dick Bultitude had been a valued raconteur^ it ap- 
peared, and his father found accordingly, to his disgust, 
that he was expected to amuse them with a story. When 
he clearly understood the idea, he rejected it with so 


128 


VICE VERSA. 


savage a snarl that he soon found it necessary to retire 
under the bedclothes to escape the general indignation 
that followed. 

Finding that he did not actively resent it (the real 
Dick would have had the occupant of the nearest bed 
out by the ears in a minute !), they profited by his pru- 
dence to come to his bedside, where they pillowed his 
weary head (with their own pillows) till the slight 
offered them was more than avenged. 

After that, Mr. Bultitude, with the breath half beaten 
out of his body, lay writhing and spluttering on his hard, 
rough bed till long after silence had fallen over the ad- 
joining beds, and the sleepy hum of talk in the other 
bedrooms had died away. 

Then he, too, drifted off into wild and troubled 
dreams, which, at their maddest, were scattered into 
blankness by a sudden and violent shock, which jerked 
him, clutching and grasping at nothing, on to the cold, 
bare boards, where he rolled, shivering. 

An earthquake ! ” he thought, ‘‘ an explosion . . . 
gas — or dynamite ! He must go and call the children 
. . . Boaler . . . the plate ! ” 

But the reality to which he woke was worse still. 
Tipping and Coker had been patiently pinching them- 
selves to keep awake until their enemy should be soundly 
asleep, in order to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of letting 
down the mattress ; and, too dazed and frightened even 
to swear, Paul gathered up his bedclothes and tried to 
draw them about him as well as he might, and seek 
sleep, which had lost its security. 

The Garud^ Stone had done one grim and cruel piece 
of work at least in its time. 


CHAPTER VIL 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 

“ A Crowd is not Company ; And Faces are "but a Gallery of Pictures ; 

And Talke but a Tinckling Cymball^ where there is no Love .''' — 

ISacon. 

Once more Mr. Bultitude rose betimes, dressed 
noiselessly, and stole down to the cold school-room, 
where one gas-jet was burning palely — for the morning 
was raw and foggy. 

This time, however, he was not alone. Mr. Blink- 
horn was sitting at his little table in the corner, correct- 
ing exercises, with his chilly hands cased in worsted 
mittens. He looked up as Paul came in, and nodded 
kindly. 

Paul went straight to the fire, and stood staring into 
it with lack-luster eye, too apathetic even to be hope- 
less, for the work of enlightening the doctor seemed 
more terrible and impossible than ever, and he began to 
see that, if the only way of escape lay there, he had 
better make up his mind with what philosophy he could 
to adapt himself to his altered circumstances, and stay 
on for the rest of the term. 

But the prospect was so doleful and so blank that 
he drew a heavy sigh as he thought of it. Mr. Blink- 
horn heard it, and rose awkwardly from the rickety lit- 


130 


VICE VERSA. 


tie writing-table, knocking over a little pile of marble- 
covered copy-books as he did so. 

Then he crossed over to Paul, and laid a hand gently 
on his shoulder. “ Look here,” he said : “ why don’t 
you confide in me ? Do you think I’m blind to what 
has happened to you ? I can see the change in you — 
if others can not. Why not trust me ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude looked up into his face, which had 
an honest interest and kindliness in it, and his heart 
warmed with a faint hope. If this young man had been 
shrewd enough to guess at his unhappy secret, might 
he not be willing to intercede with the doctor for him ? 
He looked good-natured — he would trust him. 

“ Do you mean to say really,” he asked, with more 
cordiality than he had used for a long time, ‘‘ that 
you — see — the — a — ^the difference ? ” 

“ I saw it almost directly,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, with 
mild triumph. 

“ That’s the most extraordinary thing,” said Paul, 
and yet it ought to be evident enough, to be sure. 
But no, you can’t have guessed the real state of 
things ! ” 

“ Listen, and stop me if I’m wrong. Within the last 
few days a great change has been at work within you. 
You are not the idle, thoughtless, mischievous boy who 
left here for his holidays — ” 

“ Ho,” said Paul, ‘‘ I’ll swear I’m not ! ” 

“ There is no occasion for such strong expressions. 
But, at all events, you come back here an altogether 
different being. Am I right in saying so ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” said Paul, overjoyed at being so thor- 
oughly understood, “ perfectly. You’re a very intelli- 
gent young man, sir. Shake hands. Why, I shouldn’t 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


131 


be surprised, after that, if you knew bow it all hap- 
pened ? ” 

“That, too,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, smiling, “I can 
guess. It arose, I doubt not, in a wish ? ” 

“ Yes,” cried Paul, “ you’ve hit it again. You’re a 
conjurer, sir, by Gad you are ! ” 

“ Don’t say ‘ by Gad,’ Bultitude ; it’s inconsistent. 
It began, I was saying, in a wish, half unconscious per- 
haps, to be something other than what you had been — ” 

“ I was a fool,” groaned Mr. Bultitude, “ yes, that 
was the way it began ! ” 

“ Then insensibly the wish worked a gradual trans- 
formation in your nature (you are old enough to follow 
me ?) ” 

“ Old enough for him to follow me ! ” thought Paul ; 
but he was too pleased to be annoyed. “ Hardly grad- 
ual, I should say,” he said aloud. “ But go on, sir, pray 
go on. I see you know all about it.” 

“ At first the other part of you struggled against the 
new feelings. You strove to forget them — you even 
tried to resume your old habits, your former way of 
life — but to no purpose ; and when you came here you 
found no fellowship among your companions — ” 

“ Quite out of the question ! ” said Paul. 

“ Their pleasures give you no delight — ” 

“Hot a bit!” 

“ They, on their side, perhaps misunderstood your 
lack of interest in their pursuits. They can not see — how 
should they — that you have altered your mode of life, 
and when they catch the difference between you and 
the Richard Bultitude they knew, why, they are apt to 
resent it.” 

“ They are,” agreed Mr. Bultitude : they resent it 


132 


VICE VERSA. 


in a confounded disagreeable way, you know. Why, I 
assure you that only last night I was — ” 

“Hush,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, holding up one hand ; 
“ complaints are unmanly. But I see you wonder at my 
knowing all this ? ” 

“Well,” said Paul, “I am rather surprised.” 

What would you say if I told you I had undergone 
it myself in my time ? ” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me there are two Garuda 
Stones in this miserable world ! ” cried Paul, thoroughly 
astonished. 

“ i don’t know what you mean now, but I can say 
with truth that I too have had my experiences — my 
trials. Months ago, from certain signs I noticed, I fore- 
saw that this was coming upon you.” 

“Then,” said Mr. Bultitude, “I think, in common 
decency, you might have warned me. A post-card 
would have done it. I should have been better pre- 
pared to meet this, then ! ” 

“It would have been worse than fruitless to at- 
tempt to hurry on the crisis. It might have even 
prevented what I fondly hoped would come to 
pass.” 

“Fondly hoped ! ” said Paul ; “upon my word you 
speak plainly, sir.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Blinkhorn. “You see I knew the 
Dick Bultitude that was, so well ; he was frolicsome, 
impulsive, mischievous even, but under it all there lay 
a nature of sterling worth.” 

“ Sterling worth ! ” cried Paul. “ A scoundrel, I tell 
you, a heartless, selfish young scoundrel ! Call things 
by their right names, if you please.” 

“Ho, no,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “this extreme self- 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


133 


depreciation is morbid, very morbid. There was no 
actual vice.” 

‘‘No actual vice ! Why, God bless my soul, do you 
call ingratitude — the basest, most unfilial, most treach- 
erous ingratitude — no vice, sir? You may be a very 
excellent young man, but if you gloss over things in 
that fashion your moral sense must be perverted, sir — 
strangely perverted.” 

“ There were faults on both sides, I fear,” said Mr. 
Blinkhorn, growing a little scandalized by the boy’s odd 
warmth of expression. “I have heard something of 
what you had to bear with. On the one hand, a father, 
undemonstrative, stern, easily provoked ; on the other, 
a son, thoughtless, forgetful, and at times it may be 
even willful. But you are too sensitive ; you think too 
much of what seems to me a not unnatural (although, 
of course, improper) protest against coldness and injus- 
tice. I should be the last to encourage a child against 
a parent, but, to comfort your self-reproach, I think it 
right to assure you that, in my judgment, the outburst 
you refer to was very excusable.” 

“ Oh,” said Paul, you do ? You call that comfort ? 
Excusable ! Why, what the dooce do you mean, sir? 
You’re taking the other side now ! ” 

“ This is not the language of penitence, Bultitude,” 
said poor Mr. Blinkhorn, disheartened and bewildered. 
“ Remember, you have done with your old self 
now ! ” 

“ Don’t say that,” said Paul ; “ I don’t believe it ! ” 

“You want to be your old self again ? ” gasped Mr. 
Blinkhorn. 

“ Why, of course I do,” said Paul, angrily ; “ I’m not 
an idiot ! ” 


134 


VICE VERSl. 


“ You are weary of tlie struggle so soon ? ” said the 
other, with reproach. 

W eary ? I tell you I’m sick of it ! If I had only 
known what was in store for me before I had made 
such a fool of myself ! ” 

“ This is horrible ! ” said Mr. Blinkhorn — “ I ought 
not to listen to you.” 

“ But you must,” urged Paul ; ‘‘ I tell you I can’t 
stand it any longer. I’m not fit for it at my age. You 
must see that yourself, and you must make Grimstone 
see it too ! ” 

“ Never ! ” said Mr. Blinkhorn, firmly. Nor do I 
see how that would help you. I will not let you go 
back in this deplorable way. You must nerve yourself 
to go on now in the path you have chosen ; you must 
force your schoolfellows to love and respect you in your 
new character. Come, take courage ! After all, in 
spite of your altered life, there is no reason why you 
should not be a frank and happy-hearted boy, you 
know.” 

frank and happy-hearted fiddle-stick!” cried 
Paul, rudely (he was so disgusted at the suggestion) ; 

don’t talk rubbish, sir ! I thought you were going to 
show me some way out of all this, and, instead of that, 
knowing the shameful way I’ve been treated, you can 
stand there and calmly recommend me to stay on here 
and be happy-hearted and frank ! ” 

You must be calm, Bultitude, or I shall leave you. 
Listen to reason. You are here for your good. Youth, 
it has been beautifully said, is the springtime of life. 
Though you may not believe it, you will never be hap- 
pier than you are now. Our schooldays are — ” 

But Mr. Bultitude could not tamely be mocked wdth 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


135 


the very platitudes that had brought him all his misery 
— he cut the master short in a violent passion. “ This 
is too much ! ” he cried. ‘‘ You shall not palm off that 
miserable rubbish on me. I see through it. It’s a plot 
to keep me here, and you’re in it. It’s false imprison- 
ment, and I’ll write to the ‘Times.’ ITl expose the 
whole thing ! ” 

“ This violence is only ridiculous,” said Mr. Blink- 
horn. “ If I were not too pained by it, I should feel it 
my duty to report your language to the doctor. As it 
is, you have bitterly disappointed me ; I can’t under- 
stand it at all. You seemed so subdued, so softened 
lately. But, until you come to me and say you regret 
this, I must decline to have anything more to say to 
you. Take your book and sit down in your place ! ” 

And he went back to his exercises, looking puzzled 
and pained. The fact was, he was an ardent believer 
in the Good Boy of a certain order of school tales — the 
boy who is seized with a sudden conviction of the in- 
trinsic baseness of boyhood, and does all in his power 
to get rid of the harmful taint ; the boy who renounces 
his old comrades and his natural tastes (which after all 
seldom have any serious harm in them), to don a pano- 
ply of priggishness which is too often kick-proof. 

This kind of boy is rare enough at most English 
schools, but Mr. Blinkhorn had been educated at a large 
Nonconformist college, where “ revivals ” and “ awaken- 
ings” were periodical, and undoubtedly did produce 
changes of character violent enough, but sadly short in 
duration. 

He was always waiting for some such boy to come 
to him with his confession of moral worthlessness and 
vows of unnatural perfection, and was too simple and 


136 


VICE VERSl. 


earnest and good himself to realize that such states of 
the youthful mind are not unfrequently merely morbid 
and hysterical, and too often degenerate into Pharisa- 
ism, or, worse still, hypocrisy. 

So when he noticed Mr. Bultitude’s silence and de- 
pression, his studied withdrawal from the others and his 
evident want of sympathy with them, he believed he 
saw the symptoms of a conscience at work, and that he 
had found his reformed boy at last. 

It was a very unfortunate misunderstanding, for it 
separated Paul from, perhaps, the only person who 
would have had the guilelessness to believe his incredi- 
ble story, and the good nature to help him to find 
escape from his misfortunes. 

Mr. Bultitude on his part was more angry and dis- 
gusted than ever. He began to see that there was a 
muddle somewhere, and that his identity was unsus- 
pected still. The young man, for all his fair speaking 
and pretended shrewdness, was no conjurer after all. 
He was left to rely on his own resources, and he had 
begun to lose all confidence in their power to extricate 
him. 

As he brooded over this, the boys straggled down as 
before, and looked over their lessons for the day in a dull, 
lifeless manner. The cold, unsatisfying breakfast and 
the half-hour assigned to ‘‘ chevy ” followed in due 
course, and, after that, Paul found himself set down 
with a class to await the German master, Herr Stoh- 
wasser. 

He had again tried to pull himself together and ap- 
proach the doctor with his protest, but no sooner did he 
find himself near his presence than his heart began to 
leap wildly and then retired down toward his boots, 


CUTTINa THE KNOT. 


137 


leaving him hoarse, palpitating, and utterly blank of 
ideas. 

It was no use — and he resigned himself for yet an- 
other day of unwelcome instruction. 

The class was in a little room on the basement floor, 
with a linen-press taking up one side, some hare white 
deal tables and forms, and, on the walls, a few colored 
German prints. They sat there talking and laughing, 
taking no notice of Mr. Bultitude, until the German 
master made his appearance. 

He was by no means a formidable person, though 
stout and tall. He wore big, round, owlish spectacles, 
and his pale, broad face and long nose, combined with a 
wild crop of light hair and a fierce beard, gave him al- 
most as incongruous an appearance as if a sheep had 
looked out of a gun-port. 

He took his place with an air of tremendous deter- 
mination to enforce a hard morning’s work on the book 
they were reading — a play of Schiller’s, of the plot of 
which, it is needless to say, no one of his pupils had or 
cared to have the vaguest notion, having long since 
condemned the whole subject, with insular prejudice, as 
“ rot.” 

‘‘Now, please,” said Herr Stohwasser, “where we 
left off last term. Third act, first scene — Court before 
Tell’s house. Tell is with the carpenter axe, Hedwig 
with a domestic labor occupied. Walter and Wilhelm 
in the depth sport with a liddle gross-bow. Biddlegom, 
you begin. Walter (sings).” 

But Biddlecomb was in a conversational mood, and 
willing to postpone the task of translation, so he merely 
inquired, with an air of extreme interest, how Herr 
Stohwasser’s German grammar was getting on. 


138 


VICE VERSA. 


This was a subject on which (as he perhaps knew) 
the German never could resist enlarging, for, in common 
with most German masters, he was giving birth to a 
new grammar, which, from the daring originality of its 
plan, and its extreme simplicity, was destined to super- 
sede all other similar works. 

“ Ach,” he said, “it is brogressing. I haf just gom- 
pleted a gomprehensive table of ze irregular virps, vith 
ze eggserzizes upon zem. And zere is further an ap- 
pend eeks which in itself gontains a goncise view of all 
ze vort-plays possible in the Charman tong. But, come, 
let us gontinue vith our Tell ! ” 

“ What are vort-plays ? ” persisted Biddlecomb in- 
sidiously, having no idea of continuing with his Tell 
just yet. 

“ A vort-play,” explained Herr Stohwasser ; “ it is 
English, nicht so ? A sporting vith vorts — a ‘ galem- 
bour ’ — a — Gott pless me, vat you call a ‘ pon.’ ” 

“ Like the one you made when you were a young 
man?” Jolland called out from the lower end of the 
table. 

“ Yes ; tell us the one you made when you were a 
young man ! ” the class entreated, with flattering eager- 
ness. 

Herr Stohwasser began to laugh with slow, deep sat- 
isfaction ; the satisfaction of a successful achievement. 
“ Hah, you remember dat ! ” he said, “ ah, yes, I make 
him when a yong man ; but, mind you, he was not a 
pon — he was a ‘ choice!^ I haf told you all about him 
before.” 

“We’ve forgotten it,” said Biddlecomb : “tell it us 
again.” 

As a matter of fact, this joke, in all its lights, was 


CUTTma THE KNOT. 


130 


tolerably familiar to most of them by this time, but, 
either on its individual merits, or perhaps because it 
compared favorably with the sterner alternative of 
translating, it was periodically in request, and always 
met with evergreen appreciation. 

Herr Stohwasser beamed with the pride of author- 
ship. Like the celebrated Scotchman, he “ jocked wi’ 
deeficulty,” and the outcome of so much labor was dear 
to him. 

“ I zent him into ze Charman ‘ Kladderadatch ’ (it is 
a paper like your ‘Ponch’). It — mein choke — was 
upon ze Schleswig-Holstein gomplication ; ze beginning 
was in this way — ” 

And he proceeded to set out in great length all the 
circumstances which had given materials for his 
“ choke,” with the successive processes by which he had 
shaped and perfected it, passing on to a recital of the 
masterpiece itself, and ending up by a philosophical 
analysis of the same, which must have placed his pupils 
in full possession of the point, for they laughed con- 
sumedly. 

“ I tell you zis,” he said, not to aggustom your 
minds vith frivolity and lightness, but as a lesson in ze 
gonstruction of ze langwitch. If you can choke in 
Charman, you vill also be able to gon verse in Charman.” 

“ Hid the German what’s-its-name print your joke ? ” 
inquired Coggs. 

‘‘It has not appeared yet,” Herr Stohwasser con- 
fessed : “ it takes a long time to get an imbortant choke 
like that out in print. But I vait — I write to ze editor 
every veek — and I vait.” 

“Why don’t you put it in your grammar?” sug- 
gested Tipping. 


140 


VICE VEESl. 


I haf — ZQ greater part of it — (it vas a long choke, 
but I gompressed him). If I haf time, some day I will 
make anozer liddle choke to aggompany, begause I vant 
my Grammar to be a goot Grammar, you understandt. 
And now to our Tell. Really you people do noding 
but chatter ! ” 

All this, of course, had no interest for Mr. Bulti- 
tude, but it left him free to pursue his own thoughts in 
peace, and indeed this lesson would never have been 
recorded here, but for two circumstances which will 
presently appear, both of which had no small effect on 
his fortunes. 

He sat nearest the window, and looked out on the 
pinched and drooping laurels in the inclosure, which 
were damp with frost melting in the February sunshine. 
Over the wall he could see the tops of passing vehicles, 
the country carrier’s cart, the railway parcels van, the 
fly from the station. He envied even the drivers ; their 
lot was happier than his ! 

His thoughts were busy with Dick. Oddly enough, 
it had scarcely occurred to him before to speculate on 
what he might be doing in his absence ; he had thought 
chiefly about himself. But, now he gave his attention 
to the subject, what new horrors it opened up ! What 
might not become of his well-conducted household 
under the rash rule of a foolish schoolboy ? The office, 
too — who could say what mischief Dick might not be 
doing there, under the cover of his own respectable' 
form ? 

Then it might seem good to him any day to smash 
the Garudd stone, and after that there would be no 
hope of matters being ever set right again ! 

And yet, miserable coward and fool that he was, 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


141 


Tvitli everything depending upon his losing no time to 
escape, he could not screw up his courage, and say the 
words that were to set him free. 

All at once — and this is one of the circumstances 
that make the German lesson an important stage in this 
story — an idea suggested itself to him quite dazzling by 
its daring and brilliancy. 

Some may wonder, when they hear what it was, why 
he never thought of it before, and it is somewhat sur- 
prising, but by no means without precedent. Mark 
Twain has told us soniewhere of a ferocious bandit who 
was confined for sixteen years in solitary captivity, be- 
fore the notion of escape ever occurred to him. When 
it did, he simply opened the window and got out. 

Perhaps a similar passiveness on Mr. Bultitude’s part 
was due to a very natural and ]3roper desire to do every- 
thing without scandal, and in a legitimate manner ; to 
march out, as it were, with the honors of war. Perhaps 
it was simple dullness. The fact remains that it was 
not till then that he saw a way of recovering his lost 
position, without the disagreeable necessity of disclosing 
his position to any one at Crichton House. 

He had still — thank Heaven — the five shillings he 
had given Dick. He had not thrown them away with 
the other articles in his mad passion. Five shillings was 
not much, but it was more than enough to pay for a 
third-class fare to town. He had only to watch his 
opportunity, slip away to the station, and be at home 
again, defying the usurper, before any one at Crichton 
House had discovered his absence. 

He might go that very day, and the delight of this 
thought — the complete reaction from blank despair to 
hope — was so intense that he could not help rubbing his 


142 


VICE VERSl. 


hands stealthily under the table, and chuckling with 
glee at his own readiness of resource. 

When we are most elated, however, there is always 
a counteracting agent at hand to bring us down again 
to our proper level, or below it. The Roman general 
in the triumph never really needed the slave in the 
chariot to dash his spirits — he had his friends there al- 
ready ; the guests at an Egyptian dinner must have 
brought their own skeletons. 

There was a small, flaxen-haired little boy sitting 
next to Mr. Bultitude, seemingly a quiet, inoffensive be- 
ing, who at this stage served to sober him by furnish- 
ing another complication. 

Oh, I say, Bultitude,” he piped shrilly in Paul’s 
ear, “ I forgot all about it. Where’s my rabbit ? ” 

The unreasonable absurdity of such a question an- 
noyed him excessively. “ Is this a time,” he said re- 
provingly, “to talk of rabbits? Mind your book, sir.” 

“ Oh, I daresay,” grumbled little Porter, the boy in 
question : “it’s all very well, but I want my rabbit.” 

“ Hang it, sir,” said Paul angrily, “ do you suppose 
I’m sitting on it ? ” 

“You promised to bring me back a rabbit,” persist- 
ed Porter doggedly ; “ you know you did, and it’s a 
beastly shame. I mean to have that rabbit, or know 
the reason why.” 

At the other end of the table Biddlecomb had again 
dexterously allured Her Stohwasser into the meshes of 
conversation ; this time upon the question (d propos des 
hottes) of street performances. “ I vill tell you a guri- 
ous thing,” he was saying, “ vat happened to me ze ozer 
day, ven I was walking down ze Strandt. I saw a leedle, 
gommon, dirty boy vith a tall round hat on him, and he 


CUTTING THE KNOT. 


143 


stand in a side street right out in ze road, and he take 
off his tall round hat and he put it on ze grount, and 
he stand still and look so at it. So I stop too, to see vat 
he would do next. And presently he take out a large 
sheet of paper and tear it in four pieces very garefully, 
and stick zem round ze tall round hat, and put it on his 
head again, and zen he set it down on ze grount and 
look at it vonce more, and all ze time he never speak 
von vort. And I look and look and vonder vat he vould 
do next. And a great growd of peoples com, and zey 
look and vonder too. And zen all at once ze leedle dirty 
boy he take out all ze paper and put on ze hat, and he 
valk avay, laughing altogether foolishly at zomzing I 
did not understand at all. I haf been thinking efer 
since vat in de vorldt he do all zat nonsense for. And 
zere is von ozer gurious thing I see in your London 
streets zat very same day. Zere vas a poor house cat vat 
had been by a cab overrun as I passed by, and von man 
vith a kind varm heart valk up and stamp it on ze head 
for to end its pain. And anozer man vith anozer kind 
heart, he gom up directly and had not seen ze cat over- 
run, but he see ze first man stamping, and he knock him 
down for ill-treating animals ; it vas quite gurious to 
see ; till ze policeman arrest zem both for fighting. 
Goggs, degline ‘ Katze,’ and gif me ze berf ect and bast 
barticiple of ‘kampfen,’ to fight.” This last relapse 
into duty was caused by the sudden entrance of the 
doctor, who stood at the door looking on for some time 
with a general air of being intimately acquainted with 
Schiller as an author, before suggesting graciously that 
it was time to dismiss the class. 

Wednesday was a half-holiday at Crichton House, 
and so, soon after dinner, Paul found himself marshaled 


144 


VICE VERSA. 


with tlie rest in a procession bound for tbe football field. 
They marched two and two, Cha^yner and three of the 
other elder boys leading with the ball and four goal- 
posts ornamented with colored calico flags, apd Mr. 
Blinkhorn and Mr. Tinkler bringing up the rear. 

Mr. Bultitude was paired with Tom Grimstone, who, 
after eying him askance for some time, could control 
his curiosity no longer. 

“ I say, Dick,” he began, “ what’s the matter with 
you this term ? ” 

‘‘ My name is not Dick,” said Paul stiffly. 

‘‘ Oh, if you’re so particular then,” said Tom : “ but, 
without humbug, what is the matter ? ” 

“ You see a change, then,” said Paul, ‘‘ you do see a 
difference, eh ? ” 

‘‘ Rather ! ” said Tom, expressively. “ You’ve come 
back what I call a beastly sneak, you know, this term. 
The other fellows don’t like it ; they’ll send you to 
Coventry unless you take care.” 

“ I wish they would,” said Paul. 

‘‘ You don’t talk like the same fellow, either,” con- 
tinued Tom ; “ you use such fine language, and you’re 
always in a bait, and yet you don’t stick up for yourself 
as you used to. Look here, tell me (we were always 
chums), is it one of your larks ? ” 

‘‘ Larks ! ” said Paul, “ Pm in a fine mood for larks. 
bTo, it’s not one of my larks.” 

‘‘ Perhaps your old governor has been making a 
cad of himself, then, and you’re out of sorts about 
it.” 

“ I’ll thank you not to speak about him in that way,” 
said Paul, “ in my presence.” 

‘‘ Why,” grumbled Tom, “ I’m sure you said enough 


CUTTINa THE KNOT. 


145 


about him yourself last term. It’s my belief you’re imi- 
tating him now.” 

“ Ah,” said Paul, “ and what makes you think that ? ” 

“Why, you go about strutting and swelling just 
like he did when he came about sending you here. I 
say, do you know what ma said about him after he went 
away ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul, “ your mother struck me as a very 
sensible and agreeable woman — if I may say so to her 
son.” 

“Well, ma said your governor seemed to leave you 
here just like they leave umbrellas at picture galleries, 
and she believed he had a larged-sized money-bag inside 
him instead of a heart.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Paul, with great disgust, for he had 
thought Mrs. Grimstone a woman of better taste ; 
“your mother said that, did she? Vastly entertaining, 
to be sure — ha, ha ! He would be pleased to know she 
thought that, I’m sure.” 

“ Tell him, and see what he says,” suggested Tom ; 
he is an awful brute to you, though, isn’t he ? ” 

“ If,” growled Mr. Bultitude, “ slaving from morning 
till night to provide education and luxury for a thank- 
less brood of unprofitable young vipers is ‘being a 
brute,’ I suppose he is.” 

“ Why, you’re sticking up for him now ! ” said Tom. 
“I thought he was so strict with you. Wouldn’t let 
you have any fun at home, and never took you to pan- 
tomimes ? ” 

“ And why should he, sir, why should he ? Tell me 
that. Tell me why a man is to be hunted out of his 
comfortable chair, after a well-earned dinner, to go and 
sit in a hot theatre and a thorough draught, yawning at 
1 


146 


VICE VERSl. 


the miserable drivel managers choose to call a panto- 
mime? Now, in my young days, there were panto- 
mimes. I tell you, sir, I’ve seen — ” 

“ Oh, if you’re satisfied, I don’t care ! ” said Tom, 
astonished at this apparent change of front. “ If you 
choose to come back and play the corker like this, it’s 
your lookout. Only, if you knew what Sproule major 
said about you just now — ” 

“ I don’t want to know,” isaid Paul, “ it doesn’t con- 
cern me.” 

‘‘Perhaps it doesn’t concern you w^hat pa thinks, 
either? Pa told ma last night that he was altogether 
at a loss to know how to deal with you, you had come 
back so queer and unruly. And he said, let me see, oh, 
he said that ‘ if he didn’t see an alteration very soon he 
should resort to more drastic measures ’ — drastic meas- 
ures is Latin for a whopping.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” thought Paul, “ I haven’t a mo- 
ment to lose ; he might ‘ resort to drastic measures ’ this 
very evening. I can’t change my nature at my time of 
life. I must run for it, and soon.” 

Then he said aloud to Tom, “ Can you tell me, my 
— my young friend, if, supposing a boy were to ask to 
leave the field — saying, for instance, that he was not 
well and thought he should be better at home — whether 
he would be allowed to go ? ” 

“ Of course he would,” said Tom, “ you ought to 
know that by this time. You’ve only to ask Blinkhorn 
or Tinkler ; they’ll let you go right enough.” 

Paul saw his course quite clearly now, and was over- 
come with relief and gratitude. He wrung the aston- 
ished Tom’s hand warmly; “Thank you,” he said, 
briskly and cheerfully, ‘ thank you. I’m really uncom- 


CUTTING THir KNOT. 


147 


monly obliged to you. You’re a very intelligent boy. 
I should like to give you sixpence.” 

But, although Tom used no arguments to dissuade 
him, Mr. Bultitude remembered his position in time, 
and prudently refrained from such ill-judged generosity. 
Sixpences were of vital importance now, when he ex- 
pected to be starting so soon on his perilous journey. 

And so they reached the field where the game was 
to be played, and where Paul was resolved to have one 
desperate throw for liberty and home. He was more 
excited than anxious as he thought of it, and it certainly 
did seem as if all the chances were in his favor, and that 
fortune must have forsaken him, indeed, if anything 
were allowed to prevent his escape. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TOBENDING THE BOW. 

“ I pray you, give me leave to go from hence, 

I am not well .” — Merchant of Venice. 

“ He will not hlush, that has a father’s heart. 

To take in childish plays a childish part ; 

But bends his sturdy back to any toy 

That youth takes pleasure in, — to please his boy.” 

The football field was a large one, bounded on two 
sides by tall wooden palings, and on tbe other two by 
a hedge and a new shingled road, separated from the 
field by a post and rails. 

Two of the younger boys, proud of their office, 
raced down to the further end to set up the goal-posts. 
The rest lounged idly about without attempting to 
begin operations, except the new boy Kiffin, who was 
seen walking apart from the rest, diligently studying 
the rules of the game of football,” as laid down in a 
small “ Boy’s Own Pocket Book and Manual of Out- 
door Sports,” with which he had been careful to pro- 
vide himself. 

At last Tipping suggested that they had better 
begin, and proposed that Mr. Blinkhorn and himself 
should toss up for the choice of sides, and, this being 
done, Mr. Bultitude presently, to his great dismay. 


UNBENDINa THE BOW. 


149 


heard his name mentioned. “I’ll have young Bulti- 
tude,” said Tipping ; “ he used to play up decently. 
Look here, you young beggar, you’re on my side, and 
if you don’t play up it will be the worse for you ! ” 

It was not worth while, however, to protest, since he 
would so soon be rid of the whole crew for ever, and 
so Paul followed Tipping and his train with dutiful 
submission, and the game began. 

It was not a very spirited performance. Mr. Tink- 
ler, who was not an athlete, retired at once to the post 
and rails, on which he settled himself to enjoy a railway 
novel with a highly stimulating cover. Mr. Blinkhorn, 
who had more conscientious views of his office, charged 
about vigorously, performing all kinds of wonders with 
the ball, though evidently more from a sense of duty 
than with any idea of enjoyment. 

Tipping occasionally took the trouble to oppose 
him, but as a concession merely, and with a parade of 
being under no necessity to do so ; and these two, with 
a very small following of enthusiasts on either side, 
waged a private and confidential kind of warfare in 
different parts of the field, while the others made no 
pretence of playing for the present, but strolled about 
in knots, exchanging and bartering the treasures valu- 
able in the sight of schoolboys, and gossiping generally. 

As for Paul, he did not clearly understand what 
“playing up ’’might mean. He had not indulged in 
football since he was a genuine boy, and then only in a 
rudimentary and primitive form, and without any par- 
ticular fondness for the exercise. But being now, in 
spirit at all events, a precise old gentleman, with a de- 
cided notion of taking care of himself, he was resolved 
that not even Tipping should compel him to trust his 


150 


VICE VERSl. 


person within range of that dirty brown globe, which 
whistled past his ear or seemed spinning toward his 
stomach with such a hideous suggestion of a cannon-ball 
about it. 

All the ghastly instances, too, of accidents to life 
and limb in the football field came unpleasantly into his 
memory, and he saw the inadvisability of mingling 
with the crowd and allowing himself to be kicked vio- 
lently on the shins. 

So he trotted industriously about at a safe distance 
in order to allay suspicion, while waiting for a good 
opportunity to put his scheme of escape into execu- 
tion. 

At last he could wait no longer, for the fearful 
thought occurred to him that, if he remained there 
much longer, the doctor — who, as he knew from Dick, 
always came to superintend, if not to share, the sports 
of his pupils — might make his appearance, and then his 
chance would be lost for the present, for he knew too 
well that he should never find courage to ask permission 
from him. 

With a beating heart he went up to Mr. Tinkler, 
who was still on the fence with his novel, and asked as 
humbly as he could bring himself to do : 

If you please, sir, will you allow me to go home ? 
I’m — I’m not feeling at all well.” 

“Not well! What’s the matter with you?” said 
Mr. Tinkler, without looking up. 

Paul had not prepared himself for details, and the 
sudden question rather threw him off his guard. 

“ A slight touch of liver,” he said at length. “ It 
takes me after meals sometimes.” 

“ Liver ! ” said Mr. Tinkler, “ you’ve no right to 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


151 


such a thing at your age ; it’s all nonsense, you know. 
Run in and play, that’ll set you up again.” 

“ It’s fatal, sir,” said Paul. My doctor expressly 
warned me against taking any violent exercise soon 
after luncheon. If you knew what liver is, you wouldn’t 
say so ! ” 

Mr. Tinkler stared, as well he might, hut making 
nothing of it, and being chiefly anxious not to be inter- 
rupted any longer, only said, “ Oh, well, don’t bother 
me ; I daresay it’s all right. Cut along ! ” 

So Mr. Bultitude was free ; the path lay open to 
him now. He knew he would have little difficulty in 
j finding his way to the station, and, once there, he would 

I have the whole afternoon in which to wait for a train 

I to town. 

I I’ve managed that excellently,” he thought, as he 

ran blithely off, almost like the boy he seemed. ‘‘ Not 
the slightest hitch. I defy the Fates themselves to stop 
! me now ! ” 

But the Fates are ladies, and — not of course that it 
follows — occasionally spiteful. It is very rash indeed 
to be ungallant enough to defy them — they have such 
an unpleasant habit of accepting the challenge. 

; Mr. Bultitude had hardly got clear of the groups 
scattered about the field, when he met a small flaxen- 
: haired boy, who was just coming down to join the game. 
It was Porter, his neighbor of the German lesson. 

“There you are, Bultitude, then,” he said, in his 
squeaky voice ; “ I want you.” 

; “ I can’t stop,” said Paul, “ I’m in a hurry— another 

j time.” 

' “Another time won’t do,” said little Porter, laying 
i hold of him by his jacket. “ I want that rabbit.” 


152 


VICE VERSl. 


This outrageous demand took Mr. Bultitude’s breath 
away. He had no idea what rabbit was referred to, or 
why he should be required to produce such an animal 
at a moment’s notice. This was the second time an in- 
convenient small boy had interfered between him and 
liberty. He would not be baffled twice. He tried to 
shake off his persecutor. 

I tell you, my good boy, I haven’t such a thing 
about me. I haven’t indeed. I don’t even know what 
you’re talking about.” 

This denial enraged Porter. 

I say, you fellows,” he called out, come here ! 
Ho make Bultitude give me my rabbit. He says he 
doesn’t know anything about it now ! ” 

At this several of the loungers came up, glad of a 
distraction. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” some of them asked. 

“ Why,” whined Porter, he promised to bring me 
back a rabbit this term, and now he pretends he does 
not know anything about it. Make him say what he’s 
done with it ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude was not usually ready of resource, 
but now he had what seemed a happy thought. 

“ Gad ! ” he cried, pretending to recollect it, “ so I 
did — to be sure, a rabbit, of course, how could I forget 
it ? It’s— it’s a splendid rabbit. I’ll go and fetch it ! ” 

''Will you,” cried Porter, half relieved. “Where 
is it, then ? ” 

“ Where ? ” said Paul, sharply (he was growing posi- 
tively brilliant). “ Why, in my jffaybox to be sure ; 
where should it be ? ” 

“ It isn’t in your playbox, I know,” put in Siggers : 
"because I saw it turned out yesterday, and there was 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


153 


no rabbit then. Besides, how could a rabbit live in a 
playbox ? He’s telling lies. I can see it by his face. 
He hasn’t any rabbit ! ” 

“ Of course I haven’t ! ” said. Mr. Bultitude. How 
should I ? I’m not a conjurer. It’s not a habit of mine 
to go about with rabbits concealed on my person. 
What’s the use of coming to me like this ? It’s absurd, 
you know ; perfectly absurd ! ” 

The crowd increased until there was quite a ring 
formed round Mr. Bultitude and the indignant claimant, 
and presently Tipping came bustling up. 

“What’s the row here, you fellows?” he said. 
“Bultitude again, of course. What’s he been doing 
now ? ” 

“ He had a rabbit he said he was keeping for me,” 
explained little Porter : “ and now he won’t give it up 
or tell me what he’s done with it.” 

“ He has some mice he ought to give us, too,” said 
one or two new comers, edging their way to the front. 

Mr. Bultitude was, of course, exceedingly annoyed 
by this unlooked-for interruption, and still more by such 
utterly preposterous claims on him for animals ; how- 
ever, it was easy to explain that he had no such things 
in his possession, and after that of course no more could 
be said. He was beginning to disclaim all liability, 
when Siggers stopped him. 

“ Keep that for the present,” he said. “ I say, we 
ought to have a regular trial over this, and get at the 
truth of it properly. Let’s fetch him along to the goal- 
posts and judge him ! ” 

He fixed upon the goal-posts as being somehow more 
formal, and, as his proposal was well received, two of 
them grasped Mr. Bultitude by the collar and dragged 


154 


VICE VEllSl. 


him along in procession to the appointed spot between 
the two flags, while Siggers followed in what he con- 
ceived to be a highly judicial manner, and evidently 
enjoying himself prodigiously. 

Paul, though highly indignant, allowed himself to 
be led along without resistance. It was safest to humor 
them, for after all it would not last long, and when they 
were tired of baiting him he could watch his time and 
slip quietly away. 

When they reached the goal-posts Siggers arranged 
them in a circle, placing himself, the hapless Paul, and 
his accusers in the center. You chaps had better all 
be jurymen,” he said. ‘‘I’ll be judge, and unless he 
makes a clean breast of it,” he added, with judicial im- 
partiality, “ the court will jolly well punch his ugly 
young head off.” 

Siggers’s father was an Old Bailey barrister in good 
and rather sharp practice, so that it was clearly the 
son’s mission to preside on this occasion. But unfor- 
tunately his hour of office was doomed to be a brief 
one, for Mr. Blinkhorn, becoming aware that the game 
was being still more scantily supported, and noticing 
the crowd at the goal, came up to know the reason of 
it at a long, camel-like trot, his hat on the back of his 
head, his mild face flushed with exertion, and his pebble 
glasses gleaming in the winter sunshine. 

“ What are you all doing here ? Why don’t you 
join the game ? I’ve come here to play football with 
you, and how can I do it if you all slink off and leave 
me to play by myself ? ” he asked, with pathos. 

“ Please, sir,” said Siggers, alarmed at the threat- 
ened loss of his dignity, “ it’s a trial, and I’m 
judge.” 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


155 


‘‘ Y es, sir,” the whole ring shouted together. ‘‘ W e’re 
trying Bultitude, sir. 

On the whole, perhaps, Mr. Bultitude was glad of 
this interference. At least justice would be done now, 
although this usher had blundered so unpardonably that 
morning. 

‘‘ This is childish, you know,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, 
“ and it’s not football. The doctor will be seriously 
angry if he comes and sees you trifling here. Let the 
boy go.” 

“ But he’s cheated some of the fellows, sir,” grum- 
bled Tipping and Siggers together. 

“Well, you’ve no right to punish him if he has. 
Leave him to me.” 

“ Will you see fair play between them, sir ? He 
oughtn’t to be let off without being made to keep his 
word.” 

“ If there is any dispute between you and Bultitude,” 
said Mr. Blinkhorn, “ I have no objection to settle it — 
provided it is within my province.” 

“ Settle it without me,” said Paul, hurriedly. “ I’ve 
leave to go home. I’m ill.” 

“ Who gave you leave to go home ? ” asked the 
master. 

“ That young man over there on the rails,” said Paul. 

“ I am the proper person to apply to for leave ; you 
know that well enough,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, with a 
certain coldness in his tone. “ How then. Porter, what 
is all this business about ? ” 

“ Please, sir,” said Porter, he told me last term he 
had a lot of rabbits at home, and if I liked he would 
bring me back a lop-eared one and let me have it cheap, 
and I gave him two shillings, sir, and sixpence for a 


156 


VICE VEllSA. 


hutch to keej) it in ; and now he pretends he doesn’t 
know anything about it ! ” 

To Paul’s horror two or three other boys came for- 
ward with much the same tale. He remembered now 
that during the holidays he had discovered that Dick 
was maintaining a sort of amateur menagerie in his bed- 
room, and that he had ordered the whole of the live- 
stock to he got rid of or summarily destroyed. 

Now it seemed that the wretched Dick had already 
disposed of it to these clamorous boys, and, what was 
worse, had stipulated with considerable forethought for 
payment in advance. For the first time he repented his 
paternal harshness. Like the netted lion, a paltry white 
mouse or two would have set him free ; but, less happy 
than the beast in the fable, he had not one ! 

He tried to stammer out excuses. “ It’s extremely 
unfortunate,” he said, but the fact is I’m not in a posi- 
tion to meet this — this sudden call upon me. Some 
other day, perhaps — ” 

‘‘None of your long words, now,” growled Tipping. 
(Boys hate long words as much as even a Saturday Re- 
viewer.) “ Why haven’t you brought the rabbits ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Blinkhorn. “ Why, having promised 
to bring the rabbits with you, haven’t you kept your 
word ? You must be able to give some explanation.” 

“ Because,” said Mr. Bultitude, wriggling with em- 
barrassment, “ I — that is, my father — found out that my 
young rascal of a son — I mean his young rascal of a 
son (we, you know), was, contrary to my express orders, 
keeping a couple of abominable rabbits in his bedroom, 
and a quantity of filthy little white mice which he tried 
to train to climb up the banisters. And I kept finding 
the brutes running about my bath-room, and — ^well, of 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


157 


course, I put a stop to it ; and — no, what am I saying ? 
— my father, of course, he put a stop to it ; and, in 
point of fact, had them all drowned in a pail of water.” 

It might he thought that he had an excellent oppor- 
tunity here of avowing himself, but there was the risk 
that Mr. Blinkhorn would disbelieve him, and, with the 
boys, he felt that the truth would do anything but in- 
crease his popularity. But dissembling fails sometimes 
outside the copy-books, and Mr. Bultitude’s rather blun- 
dering attempt at it only landed him in worse difficulties. 

There was a yell of rage and disappointment from 
the defrauded ones, who had cherished a lingering hope 
that young Bultitude had those rabbits somewhere, but 
(like Mr. Barkis and his China lemon) found himself 
unable to part with them when the time came to fulfill 
his contract. And, as contempt is a frame of mind high- 
ly stimulating to one’s self-esteem, even those who had 
no personal interest in the matter joined in the execra- 
tions with hearty goodwill and sympathy. 

“ Why did you let him do it ? They were ours, not 
his. What right had your governor to go and drown 
our rabbits, eh ? ” they cried wrathfully. 

“What right?” said Paul. “Mustn’t a man do as 
he pleases in his own house, then? I — he was not 
obliged to see the house overrun with vermin, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

But this only made them angrier, and they resented 
his defense with hoots, and groans, and hisses. 

Mr. Blinkhorn meanwhile was pondering the affair 
conscientiously. At last he said, “ But you know the 
doctor would never allow animals to be kept in the 
school, if Bultitude had brought them. The whole 
thing is against the rules, and I shall not interfere,” 


158 


VICE VERSl. 


Ah, but,” said Chawner, “ he promised them all to 
day-boarders. The doctor couldn’t object to that, could 
he, sir ? ” 

“ True,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “true. I was not av/are 
of that. Well then, Bultitude, since you are prevented 
from performing what you promised to do, I’m sure you 
won’t object to do what is fair and right in the matter ? ” 

“ I don’t think I quite follow you,” said Mr. Bulti- 
tude. But he dreaded what was coming next. 

“It’s very simple. You have taken money from 
these boys, and if you can’t give them value for it, you 
ought to return all you took from them. I’m sure you 
see that yourself.” 

“I don’t admit that I owe them anything,” said 
Paul ; “ and at all events it is highly inconvenient to 
pay them now.” 

“If your own sense of honor isn’t enough,” said Mr. 
Blinkhorn, “ I must take the matter into my own hands. 
Let every boy who has any claim upon him tell me ex- 
actly what it is.” 

One boy after another brought forward his claim. 
One had entrusted Dick, it appeared, with a shilling, for 
which he was to receive a mouse with a “plum saddle,” 
and two others had invested nine pence each in white 
mice. With Porter’s half-crown, the total came to pre- 
cisely five shillings — all Paul had in the world, the one 
rope by which he could ever hope to haul himself up to 
his lost pinnacle ! 

Mr. Blinkhorn, naturally enough, saw no reason why 
the money, being clearly due, should not be paid at 
once. “ Give me any money you have about you, Bul- 
titude,” he said, “ and I’ll satisfy your debts with it, as 
far as it goes.” 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


159 


Paul clasped his arm convulsively. “No ! ” he cried 
hoarsely, “ not that ! Don’t make me do that ! I — I 
can’t pay them — not now. They don’t understand. If 
they only give me time they shall have double their 
money back — wagon-loads of rabbits, the best rabbits 
money can buy — if they’ll wait. Tell them to wait ! 
My dear sir, don’t see me wronged ! I won’t pay now ! ” 
“They have waited long enough,” said Mr. Blink- 
horn ; “ you must pay them.” 

“ I tell you I won’t ! ” cried Paul : “ do you hear ? 
Not one sixpence. Oh, if you knew ! That infernal 
Garuda Stone ! What fools people are ! ” 

Then in his despair he did the most fatal thing pos- 
sible. He tried to save himself by flight, and with a 
violent plunge broke through the circle and made for 
the road which led toward the station. 

Instantly the whole school, only too glad of the ex- 
citement, was at his heels. The unhappy old merchant 
ran as he not run for a quarter of a century, faster even 
than he had on his first experience of Coggs’s and Coker’s 
society on that memorable Monday night. But in spite 
of his efforts the chase was a short one. Chawner and 
Tipping very soon had him by the collar, and brought 
him back, struggling and kicking out viciously, to Mr. 
Blinkhorn, whose good opinion he had now lost for ever. 

“ Please, sir,” said Chawner, “ I can feel something 
like a purse in his pocket. Shall I take it out, sir ? ” 
“As he refuses to act with common honesty — yes,” 
said Mr. Blinkhorn. 

It was Dick’s purse, of course ; and, in spite of Paul’s 
frantic efforts to retain it, it was taken from him, its 
contents equitably divided among the claimants, and 
the purse itself returned to him — empty. 


160 


VICE VERSA. 


‘‘Now, Bultitude,” said Mr. Blinkhorn, “if you re- 
ally wish to leave the field, you may.” 

Mr. Bultitude lost what little temper he had yet to 
lose ; he flung the useless purse from him and broke 
away from them all in a condition little removed from 
insanity. 

Leave the field ! What a mockery the permission 
was now. How was he to get home, a distance of more 
than fifty miles, without a penny in his pockets ? Ten 
minutes before, and freedom was within his grasp, and 
now it had eluded him and was as hopelessly out of 
reach as ever. 

No one pitied him ; no one understood the real ex- 
tent of his loss. Mr. Blinkhorn and the few enthnsiasts 
went back to their unobtrusive game, while the rest of 
the school discussed the affair in groups, the popular 
indignation against young Bultitude’s hitherto unsus- 
pected meanness growing more marked every instant. 

It might have even taken some decided and objec- 
tionable form before long, but when it was at its height 
there was a sudden cry of alarm. “ Cme^ you fellows, 
here’s Grim ! ” and indeed in the far distance the doc- 
tor’s portly and imposing figure could be seen just turn- 
ing the corner into the field. 

Mr. Bultitude felt almost cheered. This coming to 
join his pupil’s sports showed a good heart ; the doctor 
would almost certainly be in a good humor, and he 
cheated himself into believing that, at some interval in 
the game, he might perhaps find courage to draw near 
and seek to interest him in his incredible woes. 

It was quite extraordinary to see how the game, 
w^hich had hitherto decidedly languished and hung fire, 
now quickened into briskness and became positively 


UNBENDINa THE BOW. 


161 


spirited. Every one developed a hearty interest in it, 
and it would almost seem as if the boys, with more del- 
icacy than they are generally credited with, were un- 
willing to let their master guess how little his indul- 
gence was really appreciated. Even Mr. Tinkler, whose 
novel had kept him spell-hound on his rail all through 
the recent excitement, now slipped it liurriedly into his 
pocket and rushed energetically into the fray, shouting 
encouragement rather indiscriminately to either side, 
till he had an opportunity of finding out privately to 
which leader he had been assigned. 

Dr. Grimstone came down the field at a majestic 
slow trot, calling out to the players as he came on — 
“Well done, Mutlow ! Finely played, sir! Dribble 
it along now. Ah, you’re afraid of it ! Run into it, 
sir, run into it ! i^o running with the ball now, Sig- 
gers ; play without those petty meannesses, or leave the 
game ! There, leave the ball to me, will you — leave it 
to me ! ” 

And, as the ball had rolled in his direction, he punted 
it up in an exceedingly dignified manner, the whole 
school keeping respectfully apart, until he had brought 
it to a reasonable distance from the goal, when he kicked 
it through with great solemnity, amid faint, and it is to 
be feared somewhat sycophantic, applause, and turned 
away with the air of a man surfeited of success. 

“ For which side did I win that ? ” he asked pres- 
ently, whereupon Tipping explained that his side had 
been the favored one. “Well then,” he said, “you fel- 
lows must all back me up, or I shall not play for you any 
more ; ” and he kicked off the ball for the next game. 

It was noticeable that the party thus distinguished 
did not seem precisely overwhelmed with pleasure at 


162 


VICE VERSl. 


the compliment, which, as they knew from experience, 
implied considerable exertion on their part, and even 
disgrace if they were unsuccessful. 

The other side, too, looked unhappy, feeling them- 
selves in a position of extreme delicacy and embarrass- 
ment. For, if they played their best, they ran some 
risk of offending the doctor, or, what was worse, draw- 
ing him over into their ranks ; while, if, on the other 
hand, they allowed themselves to be too easily worsted, 
they might be suspected of sulkiness and temper — 
offenses which he was very ready to discover and resent. 

Dr. Grimstone for his part enjoyed the exercise, 
and had no idea that he was not a thoroughly welcome 
and valued playmate. But though it was pleasant to 
outsiders to see a schoolmaster permitting himself to 
share in the recreation of his pupils, it must be owned 
that to the latter the advantages of the arrangement 
seemed something more than dubious. 

Mr. Bultitude, being on the side adopted by the 
doctor, found too soon that he was expected to bestir 
himself. More than ever anxious now to conciliate, he 
did his very best to conquer his natural repugnance and 
appear more interested than alarmed as the ball came 
in his way ; but, although (to use a boating expression) 
he “ sugared ” with some adroitness, he was promptly 
found out, for his son had been a dashing and plucky 
player. 

It was bitter for him to run ‘meekly about while 
scathing sarcasms and comments on his want of cour- 
age were being hurled at his head. It shattered the 
scanty remnants of his self-respect, but he dared not 
protest or say a single word to open the doctor’s eyes to 
the injustice he was doing him. 


UNBENDING THE BOW. 


163 


He was unpleasantly reminded, too, of the disfavor 
he had acquired among his companions, by some one or 
other of them running up to him every moment when 
the doctor’s attention was called elsewhere, and start- 
ling his nerves by a sly jog or pinch, or an abusive 
epithet hissed viciously into his ears — Chawner being 
especially industrious in this respect. 

And in this unsatisfactory way the afternoon drag- 
ged along until the dusk gathered and the lamps were 
lighted, and it became too dark to see goal-posts or ball. 

By the time play was stopped and the school re- 
formed for the march home, Mr. Bultitude felt that he 
was glad even to get back to labor as a relief from such 
a form of enjoyment. It was perhaps the most miser- 
able afternoon he had ever spent in his whole easy- 
going life. In the course of it he had passed from 
brightest hope to utter despair ; and now nothing re- 
mained to him but to convince the doctor, which he felt 
quite unequal to do, or to make his escape without 
money — which would inevitably end in a recapture. 

May no one who reads this ever be placed upon the 
horns of such a dilemma ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


“ Here are a few of tlie unpleasantest words 
That ever blotted paper. . . . 

A letter, 

And every word in it a gaping wound.” 

Merchant of Venice. 

If it were not that it was so absolutely essential to 
the interest of this story, I think I should almost prefer 
to draw a veil over the sufferings of Mr. Bultitude dur- 
ing the rest of that unhappy week at Crichton House ; 
hut it would only he false delicacy to do so. 

Things went worse and worse with him. The real 
Dick in his most objectionable moods could never have 
contrived to render himself one quarter so disliked and 
suspected as his substitute was by the whole school — 
master and boys. 

It was in a great measure his own fault, too ; for to 
an ordinary boy the life there would not have had any 
intolerable hardships, if it held out no exceptional at- 
tractions. But he would not accommodate himself to 
circumstances, and try, during his enforced stay, to get 
as much instruction and enjoyment as possible out of 
his new life. 

Perhaps, in his position, it would be too much to 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


165 


expect sucli a thing, and, at all events, it never even 
occurred to him to attempt it. He consumed himself 
instead with inward raging and chafing at his hard lot, 
and his utter powerlessness to break the spell which 
bound him. 

Sometimes, indeed, he would resolve to bear it no 
longer, and would start up impulsively to impart his 
misfortunes to some one in minor authority — not the 
doctor ; he had given that up in resigned despair long 
since. But, as surely as ever he found himself coming 
to the point, the words would stick fast in his throat, 
and he was only too thankful to get away, with his 
tale untold, on any frivolous pretext that first suggested 
itself. 

This, of course, brought him into suspicion, for such 
conduct had the appearance of a systematic course of 
practical joking, and even the most impartial teachers 
will sometimes form an unfavorable opinion of a par- 
ticular boy on rather slender grounds, and then find 
fresh confirmation of it in his most insignificant actions. 

As for the school generally, his scowls and his sul- 
lenness, his deficiency in the daring and impudence that 
had warmed their hearts toward Dick, and, above all, 
his strange knack of getting them into trouble — for he 
seldom received what he considered an indignity with- 
out making a formal complaint — all this brought him 
as much hearty dislike and contempt as, perhaps, the 
most unsympathetic boy ever earned since boarding- 
schools were first invented. 

The only boy who still seemed to retain a secret 
tenderness for him as the Dick he had once looked up 
to and admired, was Jolland, who persisted in believing, 
and in stating his belief, that this apparent change of 


166 


VICE VEESA. 


demeanor was a perverted kind of joke on Bultitude’s 
part, which he would condescend to explain some day 
when it had gone far enough, and he wearied and an- 
noyed Paul beyond endurance by perpetually urging 
him to abandon his ill-judged experiment and discover 
the point of the jest. 

But for Jolland’s help, which he persevered in giv- 
ing in spite of the opposition and unpopularity it 
brought upon himself, Mr. Bultitude would have found 
it impossible to make any pretense of performing the 
tasks required of him. 

He found himself expected, as a matter of course, to 
have a certain familiarity with Greek paradigms and 
German conversation scraps, propositions in Euclid and 
Latin gerunds, of all of which, having had a strict com- 
mercial education in his young days, he had not so 
much as heard before his metamorphosis. But by 
carefully copying Jolland’s exercises, and introducing 
enough mistakes of his own to supply the necessary 
local color, he was able to escape to a great degree the 
discovery of his blank ignorance on all these subjects 
— an ignorance which would certainly have been put 
down as mere idleness and obstinacy. 

But it will be readily believed that he lived in con- 
stant fear of such discovery, and, as it was, his depend- 
ence on a little scamp like his son’s friend was a sore 
humiliation to one who had naturally supposed hitherto 
that any knowledge he had not happened to acquire 
could only be meretricious and useless. 

He led a nightmare sort of existence for some days, 
until something happened which roused him from his 
state of passive misery into one more attempt at protest. 

It was Saturday morning, and he had come down to 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


167 


breakfast, after being knocked about as usual in the 
dormitory over night, with a dull wonder how long this 
horrible state of things could possibly be going to last, 
when he saw on his plate a letter with the Paddington 
post-mark, addressed in a familiar hand — his daughter 
Barbara’s. 

For an instant his hopes rose high. Surely the im- 
i poster had been found out at last, and the envelope 
would contain an urgent invitation to him to come back 
and resume his rights — an invitation which he might 
show to the doctor as his best apology. 

But when he looked at the address, which was “ Mas- 
ter Richard Bultitude,” he felt a misgiving. It was un- 
likely that Barbara would address him thus if she knew 
I the truth ; he hesitated before tearing it open. 

I Then he tried to persuade himself that of course she 
; would have the sense to keep up appearances for his own 
j sake on the outside of the letter, and he compelled him- 
I self to open the envelope with fingers that trembled 
! nervously. 

; The very first sentences scattered his faint expecta- 
j tions to the winds. He read on with staring eyes, till 
i the room seemed to rock with him like a packet-boat, 
and the sprawling school-girl handwriting, crossed and 
recrossed on the thin paper, changed to letters of scorch- 
ing flame. But perhaps it will be better to give the let- 
ter in full, so that the reader may judge for himself 
whether it was calculated or not to soothe and encour- 
age the exiled one. 

Here it is : 

‘‘ My dearest darling Dick : I hope you have not 
I been expecting a letter from me before this, but I had 


168 


VICE VERSA. 


such lots to tell you that I waited till I had time to tell 
it all at once. For I have such news for you ! You 
can’t think how pleased you will be when you hear it. 
Where shall I begin ? I hardly know, for it still seems 
so funny and strange — almost like a dream — only I hope 
we shall never wake up. 

“I think I must tell you anyhow, just as it comes. 
Well, ever since you went away (how was it you never 
came up to say good-by to us in the drawing-room? 
We couldn’t believe till we heard the door shut that you 
really had driven away without another word !) — Where 
am I ? Oh, ever since you went away, dear papa has been 
completely changed ; you would hardly believe it unless 
you saw him. He is quite jolly and boyish — only fancy! 
and we are always telling him that he is the biggest baby 
of us all, but it only makes him laugh. Once, you know, 
he would have been awfully angry if we had even hinted 
at it. 

“ Do you know, I really think that the real reason he 
was so cross and sharp with us that last week was because 
you were going away ; for, now the wrench of parting 
is over, he is quite light-hearted again. You know how 
he always hates showing his feelings. 

“ He is so altered now, you can’t think. He has ac- 
tually only once been up to the city since you left, and 
then he came home at four o’c ock, and he seems to quite 
like to have us all about him. Generally he stays at 
home all the morning, and plays at soldiers with baby 
in the dining-room. You would laugh to see him load- 
ing the cannons with real powder and shot, and he didn’t 
care a bit when some of it made holes in the sideboard 
and smashed the looking-glass. 

‘‘We had such fun the other afternoon; we played 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


1G9 


at brigands — papa and all of us. Papa bad the upper 
conservatory for a robber-cave, and stood there keeping 
guard with your pop-gun ; and he wouldn’t let the ser- 
vants go by without a kiss, unless they showed a writ- 
ten pass from us! Miss McFadden called in the middle 
of it, but she said she wouldn’t come in, as papa seemed 
to be enjoying himself so. Boaler has given warning, 
but we can’t think why. We have been out nearly 
every evening — once to Hengler’s and once to the Chris- 
ty Minstrels, and last night to the pantomime, where 
papa was so pleased with the clown that he sent round 
afterward and asked him to dine here on Sunday, w^hen 
Sir Benjamin and Lady Bangle and Alderman Fish- 
wick are coming. Won’t it be jolly to see a clown close 
to ? Should you think he’d come in Ms evening-dress ? 
Miss Mangnall has been given a month’s holiday, because 
papa didn’t like to see us alw^ays at lessons. Think of 
that! 

“Yfe are going to have the whole house done up and 
refurnished at last. Papa chose the furniture for the 
drawing-room yesterday. It is all in yellow satin, which 
is rather bright, I think. I haven’t seen the carpet yet, 
but it is to match the furniture ; and there is a lovely 
hearth-rug, with a lion-hunt worked on it. 

“ But that isn’t the best of it ; we are going to have 
the big children’s party after all! No one but children 
invited, and every one to do exactly what they like. I 
wanted so much to have you home for it, but papa says 
it would only unsettle you and take you away from your 
work. 

Had Dulcie forgotten you ? I should like to see 
her so much. Now I really must leave off, as I am go- 
ing to the Aquarium with papa. Mind you write me as 
8 


170 


VICE VERSl. 


good a letter as this is, if that old doctor lets you. Min- 
nie and Roly send love and kisses, and papa sends his 
kind regards, and I am to say he hopes you are settling 
down steadily to work. 

“ With best love, your affectionate sister, 

“Baebaea Bultitude. 

— I nearly forgot to say that Uncle Duke 
came the other day, and has stayed here ever since. He 
is going to make papa’s fortune! I believe by a gold 
mine he knows about somewhere, and a steam tramway 
in Lapland. But I don’t like him very much — he is so 
polite.” 

It would be nothing short of an insult to the reader’s 
comprehension if I were to enter into an elaborate ex- 
planation of the effect this letter had upon Mr. Bulti- 
tude. He took it in by degrees, trying to steady his 
nerves at each additional item of poor Barbara’s well- 
meant intelligence by a sip at his tin-flavored coffee. 
But when he came to the postscript, in spite of its pur- 
port being mercifully broken to him gradually by the 
extreme dilficulty of making it out from two undercur- 
rents of manuscript, he choked convulsively and spilt his 
coffee. 

Dr. Grimstone visited this breach of etiquette with 
stern promptness. ‘‘ This conduct at table is disgrace- 
ful, sir — perfectly disgraceful — unw^orthy of a civilized 
being. I have been a teacher of youth for many years, 
and never till now did I have the pain of seeing a pupil 
of mine choke in his breakfast-cup with such deplorable 
ill-breeding. It’s pure greediness, sir, and you will 
have the goodness to curb your indecent haste in con- 
suming your food for the future. Your excellent father 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


171 


has frequently complained to me, with tears in his eyes, 
of the impossibility of teaching you to behave at meals 
with common propriety ! ” 

There was a faint chuckle along the tables, and sev- 
eral drank coffee with studied elegance and self-repres- 
sion, either as a valuable example to Dick, or as a per- 
sonal advertisement. But Paul was in no mood for 
reproof and instruction. He stood up in his excitement, 
flourishing his letter wildly. 

“ Dr. Grimstone ! ” he said ; never mind my be- 
havior now. Pve something to tell you. I can’t bear 
it any longer. I must go home at once — at once, sir ! ” 
There was a general sensation at this, for his manner 
was peremptory and almost dictatorial. Some thought 
he would get a licking on the strength of it, and most 
hoped so. But the doctor dismissed them to the 
play-ground, keeping Paul back to be dealt with in 
privacy. 

Mrs. Grimstone played nervously with her dry toast 
at the end of the table, for she could not endure to see 
the boys in trouble, and dreaded a scene, while Dulcie 
looked on with wide, bright eyes. 

“How, sir,” said the doctor, looking up from his 
marmalade, “ why must you go home at once ? ” 

“ I’ve just had a letter,” stammered Paul. 

“Ho one ill at home, I hope ? ” 

“ Ho, no,” said Paul. “ It’s not that ; it’s worse ! 
She doesn’t know what horrible things she tells me ! ” 

“ Who is ‘ she ’ ? ” said the doctor — and Dulcie’s 
eyes were larger still and her face paled. 

“I decline to say,” said Mr. Bultitude. It would 
have been absurd to say “ my daughter,” and he had 
not presence of mind just then to transpose the relation- 


172 


VICE VERSA. 


ships with neatness and success. “But indeed I am 
wanted most badly ! ” 

“ What are you wanted for, pray ? ” 

“ Everything ! ” declared Paul ; “ it’s all going to 
rack and ruin without me ! ” 

“ That’s absurd,” said the doctor ; “ you’re not such 
an important individual as all that, Master Bultitude. 
But let me see the letter.” 

Show him the letter — lay bare all those follies of 
Dick’s, the burden of v/hich he might have to bear him- 
self very shortly — never ! Besides, what v/ould be the 
use of it ? It would be no argument in favor of send- 
ing him home — rather the reverse — so Paul was obliged 
to say, “ Excuse me. Dr. Grimstone, it is — ah — of a 
private nature. I don’t feel at liberty to show it to 
any one.” 

“ Then, sir,” said the doctor, with some reason, “ If 
you can’t tell me who or what it is that requires your 
presence at home, and decline to show me the letter 
which would presumably give me some idea on the sub- 
ject, how do you expect that I am to listen to such a 
preposterous demand — eh ? Just tell me that ! ” 

Once more would Paul have given worlds for the 
firmness and presence of mind to state his case clearly 
and effectively ; and he could hardly have had a better 
opportunity, for schoolmasters can not always be 
playing the tyrant, and the doctor was, in spite of 
his attempts to be stern, secretly more amused than 
angry at what seemed a peculiarly precocious piece of 
effrontery. 

But Paul felt the dismal absurdity of his position. 
I^othing he had said, nothing he could say, short of the 
truth, would avail him, and the truth was precisely 


A LETTER FROM HOME. I73 

what he felt most unable to tell. He hung his head re- 
signedly, and held his tongue in confusion. 

“ Pooh ! ” said the doctor at last ; let me have no 
more of this tomfoolery, Bultitude. It’s getting to be 
a positive nuisance. Don’t come to me with any more 
of these ridiculous stories, or some day I shall be an- 
noyed. There, go away, and be contented where you 
are, and try to behave like other people.” 

“ Contented ! ” muttered Paul, when out of hearing, 
as he went upstairs and through the empty schoolroom 
into the playground. “ ‘ Behave like other people ! ’ 
Ah, yes, I suppose I shall have to come to that in time. 
But that letter — Everything upside down — Bangle 
asked to meet a common clown ! That fellow Duke 
letting me in for gold-mines and tramways ! It’s all 
worse than I ever dreamed of ; and I must stay here 
and be ‘ contented’ ! It’s — it’s perfectly damnable ! ” 

All through that morning his thoughts ran in the 
same doleful groove, until the time for work came to an 
end, and he found himself in the playground, and free 
to indulge his melancholy for a few minutes in solitude ; 
for the others were still loitering about in the school- 
room, and a glass outhouse originally intended for a 
conservatory, but now devoted to boots and slates, and 
the books liberally besmeared with gilt, and telling of 
the exploits of boy-heroes so beloved of boys. 

Mr. Bultitude, only too delighted to get av/ay from 
them for a little while, was leaning against the parallel 
bars in dull despondency, when he heard a rustling in 
the laurel hedge which cut off the house garden from 
the graveled playground, and looking up, saw Dulcie 
sli]:) through the shrubs and come toward him with an 
air of determination in her proud little face. 


174 


VICE VEESA. 


She looked prettier and daintier than ever in her 
gray plush hat and warm fur tippet ; hut, of course, 
Paul was not of the age or in the mood to he much 
affected hy such things — he turned his head pettishly 
away. 

“ It’s no use doing that, Dick,” she said : ‘‘ I’m tired 
of sulking. I shan’t sulk any more till I have an ex- 
planation.” 

Paul made the sound generally written “ Pshaw ! ” 
You ought to tell me everything. I will know it. 
Oh, Dick, you might tell me ! I always told you any- 
thing you wanted to know ; and I let mamma think it 
was I broke the clock-shade last term, and you know 
you did it. And I want to know something so very 
hadly ! ” 

“ It’s no use coming to me, you know,” said Paul. 
‘‘ I can’t do anything for you.” 

“ Yes, you can ; you know you can ! ” said Dulcie, 
impulsively. “You can tell me what was in that letter 
you had at breakfast — and you shall too ! ” 

“ What an inquisitive little girl you are,” said Paul, 
sententiously. “ It’s not nice for little girls to be so in- 
quisitive — it doesn’t look well.” 

“ I knew it ! ” cried Dulcie ; “ you don’t want to tell 
me — ^because — ^because it’s from that other horrid girl 
you like better than me. And you promised to belong 
to me for ever and ever, and now it’s all over ! Say it 
isn’t ! Oh, Dick, promise to give the other girl up. 
I’m sure she’s not a nice girl. She’s written you an un- 
kind letter ; now hasn’t she ? ” 

“ Upon my word,” said Paul, “ this is very forward ; 
at your age too. Why, my Parbara — ” 

“Your Barbara ! you dare to call her that? Oh, I 


A LETTER FROM HOME, 


175 


knew I Avas right ; I will see that letter noAV. Give it 
me this instant ! ” said Dulcie, imperiously ; and Paul 
really felt almost afraid of her. 

“ No, no,” he said, retreating a step or two, it’s all 
a mistake ; there’s nothing to get into such a passion 
about — there isn’t indeed ! And — don’t cry — you’re 
really a pretty little girl. I only wish I could tell you 
everything ; but you’d never believe me ! ” 

Oh, yes, I would, Dick ! ” protested Dulcie, only 
too willing to be convinced of her boy-lover’s con- 
stancy ; “I’ll believe anything, if you’ll only tell me. 
And I’m sorry I was so angry. Sit down by mo and 
tell me from the very beginning. I promise not to in- 
terrupt.” 

Paul thought for a moment. After all, why 
shouldn’t he ? It was much pleasanter to tell his sor- 
rows to her pretty little ear and hear her childish won- 
der and pity than face her terrible father — he had tried 
that. And then she might tell her mother ; and so his 
story might reach the doctor’s ears after all, Avithout 
further effort on his part. 

“Well,” he said at last, “I think you’re a good- 
natured little girl ; you Avon’t laugh. Perhaps I will 
tell you ! ” 

So he sat down on the bench by the wall, and 
Dulcie, quite happy again now at this proof of good 
faith, nestled up against him confidingly, waiting for 
his first words with parted lips and eager, sparkling eyes. 

“Not many days ago,” began Paul, “I was some- 
body very different from — ” 

“Oh, indeed,” said a jarring, sneering voice close 
by ; “ was you ? ” And he looked up and saw Tipping 
standing over him with a plainly hostile intent. 


176 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Go away, Tipping,” said Dulcie ; “ we don’t want 
you. Dick is telling me a secret.” 

Pie’s very fond of telling, 1* know,” retorted Tip- 
ping. “ If you knew wkat a sneak he was you’d have 
nothing to do with him, Dulcie. I could tell you things 
about him that — ” 

“ He’s not a sneak,” said Dulcie. “ Are you, Dick ? 
Why don’t you go. Tipping ? Never mind what he 
says, Dick ; go on as if he wasn’t there. I don’t care 
what he says ! ” 

It was a most unpleasant situation for Mr. Bultitude, 
but he did not like to offend Tipping. ‘‘ I — I think — 
some other time, perhaps,” he said nervously. “ Not 
now.” 

“ Ah, you’re afraid to say what you were going to 
say now I’m here,” said the amiable Tipping, nettled 
by Dulcie’s little air of haughty disdain. “You’re a 
coward ; you know you are. You pretend to think 
such a lot of Dulcie here, but you daren’t fight ! ” 

“ Fight ! ” said Mr. Bultitude. “ Eh, what for ? ” 

“ Why, for her, of course. You can’t care much 
about her if you daren’t fight for her. I want to show 
her who’s the best man of the two ! ” 

“I don’t want to be shown,” wailed poor Dulcie 
piteously, clinging to the reluctant Paul ; “I know. 
Don’t fight with him, Dick. I say you’re not to.” 

“ Certainly not ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, with great de- 
cision. “ I shouldn’t think of such a thing ! ” and he 
rose from the bench and was about to walk away, when 
Tipping suddenly pulled off his coat and began to make 
sundry demonstrations of a martial nature, such as 
dancing aggressively toward his rival and clinching 
his fists. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


177 


By this time most of the other boys had come down 
into the playground, and were looking on with great 
interest. There was an element of romance in this 
promised combat which gave it additional attractions. 
It was like one of the struggles between knightly cham- 
pions in the Waverley novels. Several of them would 
have fought till they couldn’t see out of their eyes if it 
would have given them the least chance of obtaining 
favor in Dulcie’s sight, and they all envied Dick, who 
was the only boy that was not unmercifully snubbed by 
their capricious little princess. 

Paul alone was blind to the splendor of his privi- 
leges. He examined Tipping carefully, as the latter 
was still assuming a hostile attitude and chanting a sort 
of war-cry supposed to be an infallible incentive to 
strife. “ Yah, you’re afraid ! ” he sang very offensively. 
‘‘ I wouldn’t be afraid ! Cowardy, cowardy, custard ! ” 

“ Pooh ! ” said Paul at last ; go away, sir, go 
away ! ” 

“Go away, eh?” jeered Tipping. “Who are you 
to tell me to go away ? Go away yourself ! ” 

“ Certainly,” said Paul, only too happy to oblige. 
But he found himself prevented by a ring of excited 
backers. 

“Don’t funk it, Dick !” cried some, forgetting re- 
cent ill-feeling in the necessity for partisanship. “ Go 
in and settle him as you did that last time. I’ll second 
you. You can do it ! ” 

“ Don’t hit each other in the face,” pleaded Dulcie, 
who had got upon a bench and was looking down into 
the ring — not, if the truth must be told, without a cer- 
tain pleasurable excitement in the feeling that it was all 
about her. 


178 


VICE versa. 


And now Mr. Bultitude discovered that he was seri- 
ously expected to fight this great hulking boy, and that 
the sole reason for any disagreement was an utterly 
unfounded jealousy respecting this little girl Dulcie. 
He had not a grain of chivalry in his disposition — 
chivalry being an eminently unpractical virtue — and 
naturally he saw no advantage in letting himself be 
mauled for the sake of a child younger than his own 
daughter. 

Dulcie’s appeal enraged Tipping, who took it as ad- 
dressed solely to himself. “ You ought to be glad to 
stick up for her,” he said between his teeth. “ I’ll mash 
you for this — see if I don’t ! ” 

Paul thought he saw his way clear to disabuse Tip- 
ping of his mistaken idea. “Are you proposing,” he 
asked politely, “ to — to ‘ mash ’ me on account of that 
little girl there on the seat ? ” 

“You’ll soon see,” growled Tipping. “Shut your 
head, and come on ! ” 

“ No, but I want to know,” persisted Mr. Bultitude. 
‘‘Because,” he said with a sickly attempt at jocularity 
which delighted none, “you see, I don’t want to be 
mashed. I’m not a potato. If I understand you aright, 
you want to fight me because you think me likely to 
interfere with your claim to that little girl’s — ah — af- 
fections ? ” 

“That’s it,” said Tipping gruffly ; “ so you’d better 
waste no more words about it, and come on.” 

“ But I don’t care about coming on,” protested Paul 
earnestly. “ It’s all a mistake. I’ve no doubt she’s a 
very nice little girl, but I assure you, my good boy, I’ve 
no desire to stand in your way for one instant. She’s 
nothing to me — nothing at all ! I give her up to you. 


A LETTER FROM HOME. 


179 


Take her, young fellow, with my blessing ! There, now, 
that’s all settled comfortably — eh ? ” 

He was just looking around with a self-satisfied and 
relieved air, when he began to be aware that his act of 
frank unselfishness was not as much appreciated as it 
deserved. Tipping, indeed, looked baffled and irreso- 
lute for one moment, but a low murmer of disgust arose 
from the bystanders, and even Jolland declared that it 
was “ too beastly mean.” 

As for Dulcie, she had been looking on incredulously 
at her champion’s unaccountable tardiness in coming to 
the point. But this public repudiation was too much 
for her. She gave a little low cry as she heard the 
shameless words of recantation, and then, without a 
word, jumped lightly down from her bench and ran 
away to hide herself somewhere and cry. 

Even Paul, though he knew that he had done noth- 
ing but what was strictly right, and had acted purely in 
self-protection, felt unaccountably ashamed of himself 
as he saw this effect of his speech. But it was too late 
now. 


I 

i 


CHAPTER X. 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WEITEE. 

“ Accelerated by ignominious shovings — nay, as it is written, by smit- 
ings, twitcbings, spumings, a posteriori^ not to be named .” — French 
Revolution. 

“ This letter being so excellently ignorant will breed no terror in the 
youth . — Twelfth Fight. 

Me. Bultitude had meant to achieve a double stroke 
of diplomacy — to undeceive Dulcie and conciliate the 
love-sick Tipping. But, whatever his success may have 
been in the former respect, the latter object failed con- 
spicuously. 

‘‘ You sha’n’t get oli by a shabby trick like that,” 
said Tipping, exasperated by the sight of Dulcie’s emo- 
tion ; “ you’ve made her cry now, and you shall smart ^ 
for it. So, now, are you going to stand up to me like a ] 
man, or will you take a kicking ? ” [ 

‘‘ I’m not going to help you to commit a breach of • 
the peace,” said Paul, with great dignity. “ Go away, J 
you quarrelsome young ruffian ! Get one of your school- 
fellows to fight you, if you must fight. I don’t want to 5 
be mixed up with you in any way.” t 

But at this Tipping, whose blood was evidently at | 
boiling point, came prancing down on him in a Zulu- 1 
like fashion, swinging his long arms like a windmill, I 
and, finding that his enemy made no attempt at receiv- ■ 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITEK. 


181 


ing him, but only moved away apprehensively, he seized 
him by the collar as a prelude to dealing him a series of 
kicks behind. 

Although Mr. Bultitude, as we have seen, was op- 
posed to fighting as a system, he could not submit to 
this sort of thing without at least some attempt to de- 
fend himself ; and, judging it of the highest importance 
to disable his adversary in the most effectual manner 
before the latter had time to carry out his offensive de- 
signs, he turned sharply round and hit him a very severe 
blow in the lower part of his waistcoat. 

The result fulfilled his highest expectations. Tip- 
ping collapsed like a pocket-rule, and staggered away 
speechless and purple with pain, while Paul stood calm 
and triumphant. He had shown these fellows that he 
wasn’t going to stand any nonsense. They would leave 
him alone after this, perhaps. 

But once more there were cries and murmurs of 
“ Shame ! ” “ Ho hitting below the belt ! ” “ Cad — 

coward ! ” 

It appeared that, somehow, he had managed to of- 
fend their prejudices even in this. “ It’s very odd,” he 
thought ; when I didn’t fight they called me a coward, 
and now, when I do, I don’t seem to have pleased them 
much. I don’t care, though. I’ve settled 

But, after a season of protracted writhing by the 
parallel bars. Tipping came out, still gasping and deadly 
pale, leaning on Biddlecomb’s shoulder, and was met 
with universal sympathy and condolence. 

“ Thanks ! ” he said, with considerable effort. ‘‘ Of 
course — I’m not going — to fight him after a low trick 
like that; but perhaps you fellows will see that he 
doesn’t escape quite as easily as he fancies ? ” 


182 


VICE versa. 


There was a general shout. No ; he shall pay for 
it ! We’ll teach him to fight fair ! We’ll see if he tries 
that on again ! ” 

Paul heard it with much uneasiness. What new 
devilry were they about to practice upon him ? He was 
not left long in doubt. 

“ I vote,” suggested Biddlecomb, as if he were pro- 
posing a testimonial, ‘‘we make him run the gantlet. 
Grim won’t come out and catch us. I saw him go out 
for a drive an hour ago.” And the idea was very favor- 
ably entertained. 

Paul had heard of “running the gantlet,” and 
dimly suspected that it was not an experience he was 
likely to enjoy, particularly when he saw everyone busy- 
ing himself with tying the end of his pocket-handker- 
chief into a hard knot. He tried in vain to excuse him- 
self, declaring again and again that he had never meant 
to injure the boy. He had only defended himself, and 
was under the impression that he was at perfect liberty 
to hit him wherever he could, and so on. But they 
were in no mood for excuses. 

With a stern magisterial formality worthy of a 
Vehm-Gericht, they formed in two long lines down the 
center of the playground ; and, while Paul was still 
staring in wonder at what this strange manoeuvre might 
mean, somebody pounced upon him and carried him up 
to one end of the ranks, where Tipping had, by this 
time, sufficiently recovered to be able to “ set him go- 
ing,” as he chose to call it, with a fairly effective kick. 

After that he had a confused sense of flying madly 
along the double line of avengers under a hail of blows 
which caught him on every part of his head, shoulders, 
and back, till he reached the end, where he was dexter- 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 183 

ously turned and sent spinning up to Tipping again, 
who, in his turn, headed him back on his arrival, and 
forced him to brave the terrible lane once more. 

Never before had Mr. Bultitude felt so sore and in- 
sulted. But they kept it up long after the thing had 
lost its first freshness — until at last exhaustion made 
them lean to mercy, and they cuffed him ignominiously 
into a corner, and left him to lament his ill-treatment 
there till the bell rang for dinner, for which, contrary 
to precedent, his recent violent exercise had excited 
little appetite. 

“ I shall be killed soon if I stay here,” he moaned ; 
“ I know I shall. These young brigands would murder 
me cheerfully, if they were not afraid of being caned 
for it. I’m a miserable old man, and I wish I was 
dead ! ” 

Although that afternoon, being Saturday, was a half- 
holiday, Mr. Bultitude was spared the ordeal of another 
game at football ; for a smart storm of rain and sleet, 
coming on about three o’clock, kept the school — not 
altogether unwilling prisoners — within doors for the 
day. 

The boys sat in their places in their schoolroom, 
amusing themselves after their several fashions — some 
reading, some making libelous copies of drawings that 
took their fancy in the illustrated papers, some playing 
games ; others, too listless to play and too dull to find 
pleasure in the simplest books, filled up the time as well 
as they could by quarreling and getting into various 
depths of hot water. Paul sat in a corner pretending 
to read a story relating the experiences of certain in- 
fants of phenomenal courage and coolness in the Arctic 
regions. They killed bears and tamed walruses all 


184 


VICE VERSl. 


through the book ; but for the first time, perhaps, since 
their appearance in print, their exploits fell flat. N^ot, 
however, that this reflected any discredit upon the au- 
thor’s powers, which are justly admired by all healthy- 
minded boys ; but it was beyond the power of literature 
just then to charm Mr. Bultitude’s thoughts from the 
recollection of his misfortunes. 

As he took in all the details of his surroundings — 
the warm, close room ; the raw-toned desks and tables 
at which a rabble of unsympathetic boys were noisily 
whispering and chattering, with occasional glances in 
his direction, from which, taught by experience, he 
augured no good ; the high, uncurtained windows, 
blurred with little stars of half-frozen rain, and the 
bare, bleak branches of the trees outside tossing dreari- 
ly against a low, leaden sky — he tried in vain to cheat 
himself into a dreamy persuasion that all this misery 
could not be real, but would fade away as suddenly and 
mysteriously as it had stolen upon him. 

Toward the close of the afternoon the doctor came 
in and took his place at the writing-table, where he was 
apparently very busy with the composition of some sort 
of document, which he finished at last with evident sat- 
isfaction at the result of his labor. Then he observed 
that, according to their custom of a Saturday afternoon, 
the hour before tea-time should be devoted to “ writing 
home.” 

So the books, chess-boards, and dominoes were all 
put away, and a new steel pen and a sheet of note- 
paper, neatly embossed with the heading ‘‘ Crichton 
House School” in old English letters, having been 
served out to every one, each boy prepared himself to 
write down such things as filial affection, strict truth- 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITEH. 


185 


fulness, and the desire of imparting information might 
inspire between them. 

Paul felt, as he clutched his writing materials, much 
as a shipwrecked mariner might be expected to do at 
finding on his desolate island a good-sized flag and a 
case of rockets. His hopes revived once more ; he for- 
got the smarts left by the knots in the handkerchiefs ; 
he had a whole hour before him — it was possible to set 
several wires in motion for his release in an hour. 

Yes, he must write several letters. First, one to his 
solicitor, detailing, as calmly and concisely as his feel- 
ings would allow, the shameful way in which he had 
been treated, and imploring him to take measures of 
some sort for getting him out of his false and awkward 
position ; one to his head clerk, to press upon him the 
necessity of prudence and caution in dealing with the 
impostor ; notes to Bangle and Fish wick putting them 
off — they should not be outraged by an introduction to 
a vulgar pantomime clown under his roof ; and, lastly 
(this was an outburst he could not deny himself), a 
solemn, impressive appeal to the common humanity, if 
not to the ordinary filial instincts, of his undutiful son. 

His fingers tingled to begin. Sentences of burning, 
indignant eloquence crowded confusedly into his head 
— ^he would write such letters as would carry instant 
conviction to the most practical and matter-of-fact 
minds. The pathos and dignity of his remonstrances 
should melt even Dick’s selfish, callous heart. 

Perhaps he overrated the power of his pen — perhaps 
it would have required more than mere ink to persuade 
his friends to disbelieve their own senses, and see a 
portly citizen of nearly sixty packed into the frame of 
a chubby urchin of fourteen. But, at all events, no 


186 


VICE versa. 


one’s faith v/as put to so hard a test — those letters were 
never written. 

‘‘ Don’t begin to write yet, any of you,” said the 
doctor ; “ I have a few words to say to you first. In 
most cases, and* as a general rule, I think it wisest to 
let every boy commit to paper whatever his feelings 
may dictate to him. I v/ish to claim no censorship over 
the style and diction of your letters. But there have 
been so many complaints lately from the parents of 
some of the less advanced of you, that I find myself 
obliged to make a change. Your father particularly, 
Richard Bultitude,” he added, turning suddenly upon 
the unlucky Paul, “ has complained bitterly of the slov- 
enly tone and phrasing of your correspondence ; he said, 
very justly, that they would disgrace a stable-boy, and, 
unless I could induce you to improve them, he begged 
he might not be annoyed by them in future.” 

It was by no means the least galling part of Mr. 
Bultitude’s trials, that former forgotten words and 
deeds of his in his original condition were constantly 
turning up at critical seasons, and plunging him deeper 
into the morass just when he saw some prospect of 
gaining firm ground. 

So now, he did remember that, being in a more than 
usually bad temper one day last year, he had, on re- 
ceiving a sprawling, ill-spelt application from Dick for 
more pocket money, to buy fireworks for the 5th of 
November, written to make some such complaint to the 
schoolmaster. He waited anxiously for the doctor’s 
next words ; he might want to read the letters before 
they were sent off, in which case Paul would not be 
displeased, for it would be an easier and less dangerous 
way of putting the doctor in possession of the facts. 


THE COMPLETE LETTER- WHITER. 


187 


But bis complaints were to be honored by a much 
more effectual remedy, for it naturally piqued the doc- 
tor to be told that boys instructed under his auspices 
wrote like stable-boys. ‘‘Plowever,” he went on, ‘‘I 
wish your people at home to be assured from time to 
time of your welfare, and, to prevent them from being 
shocked and distressed in future by the crudity of your 
communications, I have drawn up a short form of letter 
for the use of the lower boys in the second form — which 
I shall now proceed to dictate. Of course, all boys in 
the first form, and all in the second above Bultitude 
and Jolland, will write as they please, as usual. Bich- 
ard, I expect you to take particular pains to write this 
out neatly. Are you all ready? Very well then, . . . 
now ; ” and he read out the following letter, slowly : 

“ My dear Parents (or parent, according to circum- 
stances) comma ” (all of which several took down most 
industriously) — “ You will be rejoiced to hear that, 
having arrived with safety at our destination, v/e have 
by this time fully resumed our customary regular round 
of earnest work, relieved and sweetened by hearty play. 
(Plave you all got ‘ hearty play ’ down ? ” inquired the 
doctor, rather suspiciously, while Jolland observed in 
an undertone that it would take some time to get that 
dowm.) “ I hope, I trust I may say without undue con- 
ceit, to have made considerable progress in my school- 
tasks before I rejoin the family circle for the Easter 
vacation, as I think you will admit when I inform you 
of the programme we intend ” (“ D. Y. in brackets and 
capital letters ” — as before, this was taken down verba- 
tim by Jolland, who probably knew very much better), 
intend to work out during the term. 

In Latin, the class of which I am a member pro- 


188 


VICE VERSl. 


pose to thorouglily master the first book of Virgil’s 
magnificent Epic ; need I say I refer to the soul-mov- 
ing story of the Pious ^neas?” (Jolland was under- 
stood by his near neighbor to remark that he thought 
the explanation distinctly advisable), while in Greek 
we have already commenced the thrilling account of 
the ‘ Anabasis ’ of Xenophon, that master of strategy ! 
nor shall we, of course, neglect in either branch of study 
the syntax and construction of those two noble lan- 
guages” — noble languages,” echoed the writers me- 
chanically, contriving to insinuate a touch of irony into 
the words). 

“ In German, under the able tutelage of Herr Stoh- 
wasser, who, as I may possibly have mentioned to you 
in casual conversation, is a graduate of the University 
of Heidelberg” (“ and a silly old bass,” added Jolland, 
parenthetically), “we have resigned ourselves to the 
spell of the Teutonian Shakespeare” (there was much 
difference of opinion as to the manner of spelling the 
“ Teutonian Shakespeare ”), “as, in my opinion, Schiller 
may be not unaptly termed ; and our French studies 
comprise such exercises, and short poems and tales, as 
are best calculated to afford an insight into the intrica- 
cies of the Gallic tongue. 

“But I would not have you imagine, my dear pa- 
rents (or parent, as before), that, because the claims 
of the intellect have been thus amply provided for, 
the requirements of the body are necessarily over- 
looked ! 

“ I have no intention of becoming a mere bookworm, 
and, on the contrary, we have had one excessively brisk 
and pleasant game at football already this season, and 
should, but for the unfortunate inclemency of the 


THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER. 


189 

weather, have engaged again this afternoon in the 
mimic warfare. 

“In the playground our favorite diversion is the 
game of /chevy,’ so called from that engagement famed 
in ballad and history (I allude to the battle of Chevy 
Chase), and, indeed, my dear parents, in the rapid al- 
ternations of its fortunes and the diversity of its in- 
cident, the game (to my mind) bears a striking resem- 
blance to the accounts of that ever-memorable con- 
test. 

“ I fear I must now relinquish my pen, as the time 
allotted for correspondence is fast waning to its close, 
and tea-time is approaching. Pray give my kindest 
remembrances to all my numerous friends and relatives, 
and accept my fondest love and affection for yourselves, 
and the various other members of the family circle. 

“ I am, I am rejoiced to say, in the enjoyment of 
excellent health, and, surrounded as I am by congenial 
companions, and employed in interesting and agreeable 
pursuits, it is superfluous to add that I am happy. 

“ And now, my dear parents, believe me, your duti- 
ful and affectionate son, so and so.” 

The doctor finished his dictation v/ith a roll in his 
voice, as much as to say, “ I think that will strike your 
respective parents as a chaste and classical composition ; 
I think so ! ” 

But,, unexceptionable as its tone and sentiments un- 
doubtedly were, it was far from expressing the feelings 
of Mr. Bultitude. The rest accepted it not unwillingly 
as an escape from the fatigue of original composition, 
but to him the neat, well-balanced sentences seemed a 
hollow mockery. As he wrote down each successive 
phrase, he wondered what Dick would think of it, and. 


190 VICE VERSA. 

when at last it was finished, the precious hour had gone 
for another week ! 

In speechless disgust, hut without protest, for his 
spirit was too broken by this last cruel disappointment, 
he had to fold, put into an envelope, and direct this 
most misleading letter under the doctor’s superintend- 
ing eye, which, of course, allowed him no chance of in- 
troducing a line or even a word to counteract the tone 
of self-satisfaction and contentment which breathed in 
every sentence of it. 

He saw it stamped, and put into the postbag, and 
then his last gleam of hope flickered out ; he must give 
up struggling against the Inevitable ; he must resign 
himself to be educated, and perhaps flogged here, while 
Dick was filling his house with clowns and pantaloons, 
destroying his reputation and damaging his credit at 
home. Perhaps, in course of time, he would grow ac- 
customed to it, and, meanwhile, he would be as careful 
as possible to do and say nothing to make himself re- 
markable in any way, by which means he trusted, at 
least, to avoid any fresh calamity. 

And with this resolution he went to bed on Saturday 
night, feeling that this was a dreary finish to a most 
unpleasant week. 


CHAPTER XL 


A DAY OF KEST. 

“ There was a letter indeed to be intercepted by a man’s father to do him 

good with him ! ” — Every Man in his Humor. 

“ I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, 

Sent to my son ; nor leave t’ admire the change 
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth 
Within the kingdom, since myself was one. — Ibid. 

Sunday came — a day which was to begin a new week 
for Mr. Bnltitude, and, of course, for the rest of the 
Christian world as well. Whether that week would be 
better or worse than the one which had just passed 
away he naturally could not tell ; it could hardly be 
much worse. 

But the Sunday itself, he anticipated — without, how- 
ever, any very firm grounds for such an assumption — 
would be a day of brief but grateful respite ; a day on 
which he might venture to claim much the same im- 
munity as was enjoyed in the old days by the insolvent ; 
a day, in short, which would glide slowly by with the 
rather drowsy solemnity peculiar to the British sabbath 
as observed by all truly respectable persons. 

And yet that very Sunday, could he have foreseen 
it, was destined to be the most eventful day he had yet 
spent at Crichton House, where none had proved want- 
ing in incident. During the next twelve hours he was 


103 


VICE VERSA. 


to pass througli every variety of unpleasant sensation. 
Embarrassment, suspense, fear, anxiety, dismay, and 
terror were to follow each other in rapid succession, and 
to wind up, strangely enough, with a delicious ecstasy 
of pure relief and happiness — a fatiguing programme 
for any middle-aged gentleman who had never culti- 
vated his emotional faculties. 

Let me try and tell you how this came about. The 
getting-up bell rang an hour later than on week-days, 
but the boys were expected to prepare certain tasks 
suitable for the day before they rose. Mr. Bultitude 
found that he was required to learn by heart a hymn in 
which the rhymes ‘‘join” and “divine,” “throne” and 
“crown,” were so happily wedded that either might 
conform to the other — a graceful concession to individ- 
ual taste which is not infrequent in this class of poetry. 
Trivial as such a task may seem in these days of school 
boards, it gave him infinite trouble and mental exertion, 
for he had not been called upon to commit anything of 
the kind to memory for many years, and, after master- 
ing that, there still remained a long chronological list 
(the dates approximately computed) of the leading events 
before and immediately after the Deluge, which was to 
be repeated “without looking at the book.” 

While he was wrestling desperately with these — for 
he was determined, as I have said before, to do all in 
his power to keep himself out of trouble — Mrs. Grim- 
stone, in her morning wrapper, paid a visit to the dor- 
mitories, and, in spite of all Paul’s attempts to excuse 
himself, insisted upon pomatuming his hair — an indig- 
nity which he felt acutely. 

“ When she knows who I really am,” he thought, 
“ she’ll be sorry she made such a point of it. If there’s 


A BAY OF BEST. 


193 


one tiling upon eartli I loathe more than another, it’s 
marrow-oil pomade ! ” 

Then there was breakfast, at which Dr. Grimstone 
appeared, resplendent in glossy broadcloth, and dazzlin g 
shirt-front and semi-clerical white tie, and after break- 
fast, an hour in the school-room, during which the boys 
(by the aid of repeated references to the text) wrote 
out ‘‘ from memory ” the hymn they had learned, while 
Paul managed somehow to stumble through his dates 
and events to the satisfaction of Mr. Tinkler, who, to 
increase his popularity, made a point of being as easily 
satisfied with such repetitions as he decently could. 

After that came the order to prepare for church. 
There was a general rush to the little room with the 
shelves and bandboxes, where church books were pro- 
cured, and great -coats and tight kid gloves put on. 

When they were almost ready the doctor came in, 
wearing his blandest and most paternal expression. 

‘‘ Ah — it’s a collection Sunday to-day, boys,” he said. 
“ Have you all got your threepenny-bits ready ? I like 
to see my boys give cheerfully and liberally of their 
abundance. If anybody does not happen to have any 
small change, I can accommodate him if he comes to 
’ me.” 

And this he proceeded to do from a store he had 
with him of that most convenient coin — the chosen ex- 
pression of a congregation’s gratitude — the common silver 
threepence, for the school occupied a prominent position 
in the church, and had acquired a great reputation 
among the churchwardens for the admirable uniformity 
with which one young gentleman after another “put 
into the plate ; ” and this reputation the doctor was 
naturally anxious that they should maintain. 


194 


VICE VERSl. 


I am Sony to say that Mr. Bultitude, fearing lest he 
should be asked if he had the required sum about him, 
and thus his penniless condition might be discovered 
and bring him trouble, got behind the door at the 
beginning of the money-changing transactions, and re- 
mained there till it was over ; it seemed to him that it 
would be too paltry to be disgraced for want of three- 
pence. 

Now, being thus completely furnished for their de- 
votions, the school formed in couples in the hall and 
filed solemnly out for the march to church. 

Mr. Bultitude walked nearly last with J olland, whose 
facile nature had almost forgotten his friend’s short- 
comings on the previous day. He kept up a perpetual 
flow of chatter, which, as he never stopped for an an- 
swer, permitted Paul to indulge his own thoughts unre- 
strained. 

“ Are you going to put your threepenny-bit in ? ” 
said Jolland ; “ I won’t if you don’t. Sometimes, you 
know, when the plate comes round, old Grim squints 
down the pews to see we don’t shirk. Then I put in 
sixpence. Have you done your hymn ? I do hate a 
hymn. What’s the use of learning hymns ? They 
won’t mark you for them, you know, in any exam. I 
ever heard of, and it can’t save you the expense of a 
hymn-book unless you learned all the hymns in it, and 
that would take you years. Oh, I say, look ! there’s 
young Mutlow and his governor and mater. I wonder 
what Mutlow’s governor does? Mutlow says he’s a 
‘ gentleman ’ if you ask him, but I believe he lies. See 
that fly driving past ? Mother Grim ” (the irreverent 
youth always spoke of Mrs. Grimstone in this way) 
“ and Hulcie are in it. I saw Dulcie look at you, Dick. 


A DAY OF REST. 


195 


It’s a shame to treat her as you did yesterday. There’s 
young Tom on the box ; don’t his ears stick out rum- 
mily ? I wonder if the ‘ ugly family ’ will be at church 
to-day ? You know the ugly family ; all with their 
mouths open and their eyes goggling, like a jolly old 
row of pantomime heads. And oh, Dick, suppose Con- 
nie Davenant’s people have changed their pew — that’ll 
be a sell for you rather, won’t it ? ” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Bultitude, stiffly ; 
“and, if you don’t object, I prefer not to be called upon 
to talk just now.” 

“ Oh, all right ! ” said J olland, “ there aren’t so many 
fellows who will talk to you ; but just as you please — I 
don’t want to talk.” 

And so the pair walked on in silence ; Jolland with 
his nose in the air, determined that after this he really 
must cut his former friend as the other fellows had done, 
since his devotion was appreciated so little, and Paul 
[ watching the ascending double line of tall chimney-pot 
i hats as they surged before him in regular movement, 
i and feeling a dull wonder at finding himself setting out 
[ to church in such ill-assorted company. 

^ They entered the church, and Paul was sent down 
! to the extreme end of a pew next to the one reserved 
j for the doctor and his family. Dulcie was sitting there 
f already on the other side of the partition ; but she gave 
I no sign of having noticed his arrival, being apparently 
j absorbed in studying the rose-window over the altar. 

I He sat down in his corner with a sense of rest and 
I almost comfort, though the seat was not a cushioned 
I one. He had the inoffensive Kiffln for a neighbor, his 
chief tormentors were far away from him in one of the 
I back pews, and here at least, he thought, no harm could 


196 


VICE VERSA. 


come to him. He could allow himself safely to do what 
I am afraid he generally did do under the circumstances 
— snatch a few intermittent hut sweet periods of dream- 
less slumber. 

But, while the service was proceeding, Mr. Bultitude 
was suddenly horrified to observe that a young lady, 
who occupied a pew at right angles to and touching 
that in which he sat, was deliberately making furtive 
signals to him in a most unmistakable manner. 

She was a decidedly pretty girl of about fifteen, 
with merry and daring blue eyes and curling golden 
hair, and was accompanied by two small brothers (who 
shared the same book and dealt each other stealthy and 
vicious kicks throughout the service), and by her father, 
a stout, short-sighted old gentleman in gold spectacles, 
who was perpetually making the wrong responses in a 
loud and confident tone. 

To be signaled to in a marked manner by a strange 
young lady of great personal attractions might be a 
coveted distinction to other schoolboys, but it simply 
gave Mr. Bultitude cold thrills. 

“ I suppose that’s ‘ Connie Davenant,’ ” he thought, 
shocked beyond measure as she caught his eye and 
coughed demurely for about the fourth time. “ A very 
forward young person ! I think somebody ought to 
speak seriously to her father.” 

“ Good gracious ! she’s writing something on the fly- 
leaf of her prayer-book,” he said to himself presently. 
“ I hope she’s not going to send it to me. I won’t take 
it. She ought to be ashamed of herself ! ” 

Miss Davenant was indeed busily engaged in pencil- 
ing something on a blank sheet of paper ; and, having 
finished, she folded it deftly into a cocked-hat, wrote a 


A DAY OF REST. 


197 


few words on the outside, and placed it between the 
leaves of her book. 

Then, as the congregation rose for the Psalms, she 
gave a meaning glance at the blushing and scandalized 
Mr. Bultitude, and, by dexterous management of her 
prayer-book, shot the little cocked-hat, as if unconscious- 
ly, into the next pew. 

By a very unfortunate miscalculation, however, the 
note missed its proper object, and, clearing the parti- 
tion, fluttered deliberately down on the floor by Dulcie’s 
feet. 

Paul saw this with alarm ; he knew that at all haz- 
ards he must get that miserable note into his own pos- 
session and destroy it. It might have his name some- 
where about it ; it might seriously compromise him. 

So he took advantage of the noise the congregation 
made in repeating a verse aloud (it was not a high 
church) to whisper to Dulcie : “Little Miss Grimstone, 
excuse me, but there’s a — a note in the pew down by 
your feet. I believe it is intended for me.” 

Dulcie had seen the whole affair, and had been not a 
little puzzled by it, a clandestine correspondence being a 
new thing in her short experience ; but she understood 
that in this golden-haired girl, her elder by several 
years, she saw her rival, for whom Dick had so basely 
abandoned her yesterday, and she was old enough to 
feel the slight and the sweetness of revenge. 

So she held her head rather higher than usual, with 
her firm little chin projecting willfully, and waited for 
the next verse but one before retorting, “ Little Master 
Bultitude, I know it is.” 

“ Could you — can you manage to reach it ? ” whis- 
pered Paul, entreatingly. 


198 


VICE VERSl. 


“Yes,” said Dulcie, “I could.” 

“ Then will you — when they sit down ? ” 

“No,” said Dulcie, firmly, “ I shan’t.” 

The other girl, she noticed with satisfaction, had be- 
come aware of the situation and was evidently uneasy. 
She looked as imploringly as she dared at remorseless 
little Dulcie, as if appealing to her not to get her into 
trouble ; but Dulcie bent her eyes obstinately on her 
book and would not see her. 

If the letter had been addressed to any other boy in 
the school, she would have done her best to shield the 
culprits ; but this she could not bring herself to do here. 
She found a malicious pleasure in remaining absolutely 
neutral, which, of course, was very wrong and ill-natured 
of her. 

Mr. Bultitude began now to be seriously alarmed. 
The fatal paper must be seen by some one in the doc- 
tor’s pew as soon as the congregation sat down again ; 
and, if it reached the doctor’s hands, it was impossible 
to say what misconstruction he might put upon it, or 
what terrible consequences might not follow. 

He was innocent, perfectly innocent ; but, though 
the consciousness of innocence is frequently a great 
consolation, he felt that, unless he could imbue the 
doctor with it as well, it would not save him from a 
flogging. 

So he made one more desperate attempt to soften 
Dulcie’s resolution : “ Don’t be a naughty little girl,” 
he said, very injudiciously for his purpose ; “ I tell you 
I must have it. You’ll get me into a terrible mess if 
you’re not careful ! ” 

But, although Dulcie had been extremely well 
brought up, I regret to say that the only answer she 


A DAY OF REST. 


199 


chose to make to this appeal was that slight contortion 
of the features which with a pretty girl is euphemized 
as a and with a plain one is called ‘‘making a 

face.” When he saw it he knew that all hope of chang- 
ing her purpose must be abandoned. 

Then they all sat down, and, as Paul had foreseen, 
there the white cocked-hat lay on the dark pew-carpet, 
hideously distinct, with hilUt doux in every fold of it ! 

It could only be a question of time now. The curate 
was reading the first lesson for the day, but Mr. Bulti- 
tude heard not a verse of it. He was waiting with 
bated breath for the blow to fall. 

It fell at last. Dulcie, either with the malevolent 
idea of hastening the crisis, or (which I prefer to be- 
lieve for my own part) finding that her ex-lover’s visible 
torments were too much for her desire of vengeance, 
was softly moving a heavy hassock toward the guilty 
note. The movement caught her mother’s eye, and in 
an instant the compromising paper was in her watchful 
. hands. 

She read it with incredulous horror, and handed it 
at once to the doctor. 

The golden-haired one saw it all without betraying 
herself by any outward confusion. She had probably 
had some experience in such matters, and felt tolerably 
certain of being able, at the worst, to manage the old 
gentleman in the gold spectacles. But she took an 
early opportunity of secretly conveying her contempt 
for the traitress Dulcie, who continued to meet her 
angry glances with the blandest unconsciousness. 

Dr. Grimstone examined the cocked-hat through his 
double eyeglasses, with a heavy thunder-cloud gather- 
ing on his brows. When he had mastered it thoroughly. 


200 


VICE VERSA. 


he bent forward and glared indignantly past his wife 
and daughter for at least half a minute into the pew 
where Mr. Bultitude was cowering, until he felt that he 
was coming all to pieces under the piercing gaze. 

The service passed all too quickly after that. Paul 
sat down and stood up almost unconsciously with the 
rest ; but for the first time in his life he could have 
wished the sermon many times longer. 

The horror of his position quite petrified him. 
After all his prudent resolutions to keep out of mis- 
chief and to win the regard and confidence of his jailer 
by his good conduct, like the innocent convict in a 
melodrama, this came as nothing less than a catas- 
trophe. He walked home in a truly dismal state of 
limp terror. 

Fortunately for him, none of the others seemed to 
have noticed his misfortune, and Jolland made no fur- 
ther advances. But even the weather tended to increase 
his depression, for it was a bleak, cheerless day, with a 
bitter and searching wind sweeping the gritty roads 
where yesterday’s rain was turned to black ice in the 
ruts, and the sun shone with a dull coppery glitter that 
had no warmth or geniality about it. 

The nearer they came to Crichton House the more 
abjectly miserable became Mr. Bultitude’s state of 
mind. It was as much as he could do to crawl up the 
steps to the front door, and his knees positively clapped 
together when the doctor, who had driven home, met 
them in the hall and said, in a still grave voice, ‘‘Bulti- 
tude, when you have taken off your coat, I want you 
in the study.” 

He was as long about taking off his coat as he dared, 
but at last he went trembling into the study, which he 


A DAY OF REST. 


201 


found empty. He remembered the room well, with its 
ebony-framed etchings on the walls, bookcases and blue 
china over the draped mantelpiece, even to a large case 
of elaborately carved Indian chessmen in bullock-carts 
and palanquins, on horses and elephants, which stood 
in the window-recess. It was the very room to which 
he had been shown when he first called about sending 
his son to the school. He had little thought then that 
the time would come when he would attend there for 
the purpose of being fiogged ; few things would have 
seemed less probable. Yet here he was. 

But his train of thought was abruptly broken by 
the entrance of the doctor. He marched solemnly in, 
holding out the offending missive. ‘‘Look here, sir ! ” 
he said, shaking it angrily before Paul’s eyes. “ Look 
here ! what do you mean by receiving a fiippant com- 
munication like this in a sacred edifice ? What do you 
mean by it ? ” 



“ I — I didn’t receive it,” said Paul, at his wit’s encl. 

“Don’t prevaricate with me, sir ; you know well 
enough it was intended for you. Have the goodness 
to read it now, and tell me what you have to say for 
yourself ! ” 

Paul read it. It was a silly little school-girl note, 
half slang and half sentiment, signed only with the 
initials C. D. “Well, sir?” said the doctor. 

“ It’s very forward and improper — very,” said Paul ; 
“ but it’s not my fault — I can’t help it. I gave the girl 
no encouragement. I never saw her before in all my 


life ! ” 


“ To my own knowledge, Bultitude, she has sat in 
that pew regularly for a year.” 

“Very probably,” said Paul, “but I don’t notice 


202 


VICE VERSl, 


these matters. I’m past that sort of thing, my dear 
sir.” 

“ What is her name ? Come, sir, you know that.” 

“ Connie Davenant,” said Paul, taken unawares by 
the suddenness of the question. “ At least, I — I heard 
so to-day.” He felt the imprudence of such an admis- 
sion as soon as he had made it. 

“Very odd that you know her name if you never 
noticed her before,” said the doctor. 

“ Jolland told me,” said Paul. 

“ Ah, hut it’s odder still that she knows yours, for I 
perceive it is directed to you by name.” 

“ It’s easily explained, my dear sir,” said Paul ; 
“easily explained. I’ve no doubt she heard it some- 
where. At least, I never told her ; it is not likely. I 
do assure you I’m as much distressed and shocked by 
this affair as you can be yourself. I am indeed. I 
don’t know What girls are coming to nowadays.” 

“Ho you expect me to believe that you are perfectly 
innocent ? ” said the doctor. 

“Yes, I do,” said IVIr. Bultitude. “I can’t prevent 
fast young ladies from sending me notes. Why, she 
might have sent you one ! ” 

“We won’t go into hypothetical cases,” said the 
doctor, not relishing the war being carried into his own 
country ; “ she happened to prefer you. But, although 
your virtuous indignation seems to me a trifle overdone, 
sir, I don’t see my way clear to punishing you on the 
facts, especially as you tell me you never encouraged 
these — these overtures, and my Hulcie, I am bound to 
say, conflrms your statement that it was all the other 
young lady’s doing. But, if I had had any proof that 
you had begun or responded to her — hem — advances. 


A DAY OF REST. 


203 


nothing could have saved you from a severe flogging at 
the very least ; so he careful for the future.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Paul, rather feebly, quite overwhelmed 
by the narrowness of his escape. Then, with a desper- 
ate effort, he found courage to add : “ May I — ah — take 
advantage of this — this restored cordiality, to — to — in 
fact, to make a brief personal explanation? It — it’s 
what I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time, ever 
since I first came, only you never will hear me out. It’s 
highly important. You’ve no notion how serious it 
is!” 

‘‘There’s something about you this term, Richard 
Bultitude,” said the doctor, slowly, “ that I confess I 
don’t understand. This obstinacy is unusual in a boy 
of your age, and if you really have a mystery it may 
be as well to have it out and have done with it. But I 
can’t be annoyed with it now. Come to me after sup- 
per to-night, and I shall be willing to hear anything 
you may have to say.” 

Paul was too overcome at this unexpected favor to 
speak his thanks. He got away as soon as he could. 
His path was smoothed at last ! 

That afternoon the boys, or all of them who had 
disposed of the work set them for the day, were sitting 
in the school-room, after a somewhat chilly dinner of 
cold beef, cold tarts, and cold water, passing the time 
with that description of literature known as “ Sunday 
reading.” 

And here, at the risk of being guilty of a digres- 
sion, I must pause to record my admiration for this ex- 
ceedingly happy form of compromise, which is, I think, 
peculiar to the British and, to a certain extent, the 
American nations. 


204 


VICE VEESl. 


It has many developments. From the mild trans- 
atlantic compound of cookery and camp-meetings, to | 
the semi-novel, redeemed and chastened by an arrange- 
ment which sandwiches a sermon or a biblical lecture be- 
tween each chapter of the story — a great convenience 
for the race of skippers. 

But the crown and triumph of successful trimming 
must surely be looked for in the illustrated Sabbath 
magazines, in many of which there is so dexterous a 
combination of this world and the next that even a 
public analyst might find it difficult to resolve them. 

Open any one of the monthly numbers, and the 
chances are you will find at one part a neat little doc- 
trinal essay by a literary bishop ; at another, a paper 
upon “ cockroaches and their habits ” by an eminent 
savant ; somewhere else, a description of foreign travel, 
done in a brilliant and wholly secular vein ; and, far- 
ther on again, an article on aesthetic furniture — the bal- 
ance of the number being devoted to instalments of 
two thrilling novels by popular authors, whose theology 
is seldom their strongest point. 

Oddly enough, too, when these very novels come out 
later in three-volume form, with the “mark of the 
beast ” in the shape of a circulating library ticket upon 
them, they will be fortunate if they are not interd- 
icted altogether by some of the serious families who 
take in the magazines as being “so suitable for Sun- 
days.” 

It was the editor of one of these magazines, indeed, 
who is said, though I do not vouch for the truth of the 
story, to have implored the author, who was running a 
novel through his columns, to shift the date on which 
he had made his lovers meet from Saturday afternoon 


A DAY OF REST. 


205 


to “ Sunday after church time,” in deference to the sus- 
ceptibilities of his subscribers. 

Mr. Bultitude, at all events, had no reason to com- 
plain of the system. For in one of the bound volumes 
supplied to him he found a most interesting and delight- 
fully unsectarian novel, which appealed to his tastes as 
a business man, for it was all about commerce and mak- 
ing fortunes by blockade-running ; and, though he was 
no novel reader as a rule, his mind was so relieved and 
set at rest by the prospect of seeing the end of his 
troubles at last that he was able to occupy his mind 
with the fortunes of the hero. 

He naturally detected technical errors here and there. 
But that pleased him, and he was becoming so deeply 
absorbed in the tale that he felt seriously annoyed when 
Chawner came softly up to the desk at which he was 
sitting, and sat down close to him, crossing his arms be- 
fore him, and leaning forward upon them with his sal- 
low face toward Paul. 

, “ Dickie,” he began, in a cautious, oily tone, “ did I 
hear the doctor say before dinner that he would hear 
anything you have to tell him after supper ? Did I ? ” 

“ I really can’t say, sir,” said Paul ; “ if you were 
near the key-hole at the time, very likely you did.” 

“ The door was open,” said Chawner, “ and I was in 
the cloak-room, so I heard, and I want to know. What 
is it you’re going to tell the doctor ? ” 

Mind your own business, sir,” said Paul, sharply. 

“It is my own business,” said Chawner; “but I 
don’t want to be told what you’re going to tell him. I 
know.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” said Mr. Bultitude, annoyed to 
find his secret in possession of this boy of all others. 


206 


VICE VERSA. 


“Yes,” repeated Chawner, “I know, and I tell you 
wliat — I won’t have it ! ” 

“ Won’t have it ! and why ? ” 

“ Never mind why. Perhaps I don’t choose that the 
doctor shall be told just yet ; perhaps I mean to go up 
and tell him myself some other day. I want to have a 
little more fun out of it before I’ve done.” 

“But— hut,” said Paul, “you young ghoul, do you 
mean to say that all you care for is to see other people’s 
sufferings ? ” 

Sludge grinned maliciously. “Yes,” he said, suavely, 
“ it amuses me.” 

“ And so,” said Paul, “ you want to hold me back a 
little longer — because it’s so funny ; and then, when 
you’re quite tired of your sport, you’ll go up and tell 
the doctor my — ^my unhappy story yourself, eh ? No, 
my friend ; I’d rather not tell him myself — ^hut I’ll he 
shot if I let you have a finger in it. I know my own 
interests better than that ! ” 

“ Don’t get in a passion, Dickie,” said Chaw- 
ner ; “ it’s Sunday. You’ll have to let me go up in- 
stead of you — when I’ve frightened them a little 
more.” 

“ Who do you mean by them, sir ? ” said Paul, grow, 
ing puzzled. 

“As if you didn’t know ! Oh, you’re too clever for 
me, Dickie, I can see,” sniggered Chawner. 

“ I tell you I don’t know ! ” said Mr. Bultitude. 
“ Look here, Chawner — your confounded name is Chaw- 
ner, isn’t it ? — there’s a mistake somewhere, I’m sure of 
it. Listen to me. I’m not going to tell the doctor 
what you think I am ! ” 

“ What do I think you are going to tell him ? ” 


A DAY OF EEST. 


207 


“ I haven’t the slightest idea ; but, whatever it is, 
you’re wrong.” 

“ Ah, you’re too clever, Dickie ; you won’t betray 
yourself ; but other people want to pay Coker and Tip- 
ping out as well as you, and I say you must wait.” 

“ I shan’t say anything to affect any one but myself,” 
said Paul; if you know all about it, you must know that 
— it won’t interfere with your amusement that I can see.” 

“ Yes, it will,” said Chawner, irritably, ‘‘ it will — 
you mayn’t mean to tell of any one but yourself ; but, 
directly Grimstone asks you questions, it all comes out. 
I know all about it. And, anyway, I forbid you to go 
up till I give you leave.” 

‘‘ And who the dooce are you ? ” said Mr. Bultitude, 
nettled at this assumption of authority. “ How are you 
going to prevent me, may I ask ? ” 

“ S’sh ! here’s the doctor,” whispered Chawner, hur- 
riedly. “ I’ll tell you after tea. What am I doing out 
of my place, sir ? Oh, I was only asking Bultitude what 
was the collect for to-day, sir. Fourth Sunday after 
the Epiphany ? thank you, Bultitude.” 

And he glided back to his seat, leaving Paul in a 
state of vague uneasiness. Why did this fellow, with 
the infernal sly face and glib tongue, want to prevent 
him from righting himself with the world, and how 
could he possibly prevent him ? It was absurd ; he 
would take no notice of the young scoundrel — he would 
defy him. 

But he could not banish the uneasy feeling ; the cup 
had slipped so many times before at the critical moment 
that he could not be sure whose hand would be the next 
to jog his elbow. And so he went down to tea with 
renewed misgivings. 


CHAPTER XII. 


AGAINST TIME. 

“ There is a kind of Followers likewise, which are dangerous, being in- 
deed Espials ; which enquire the Secrets of the House and bcare 

Tales of them.” — Bacon. 

“ Then give me leave that I may turn the key, 

That no man enter till my tale be done.” 

Veey possibly Chawner’s interference in Mr. Bulti- 
tude’s private affairs has surprised others besides the 
victim of it ; but the fact is that there was a most un- 
fortunate misunderstanding between them from the 
very first, which prevented the one from seeing, the 
other from explaining, the real state of the case. 

Chawner, of course, no more guessed Paul’s true 
name and nature than any one else who had come in 
contact with him in his impenetrable disguise, and his 
motive for attempting to prevent an interview with the 
doctor can only, I fear, be explained by another slight 
digression. 

The doctor, from a deep sense of his responsibility 
for the morals of those under his care, was perhaps a 
trifle over-anxious to clear his moral garden of every 
noxious weed, and too constant in his vigilant efforts to 
detect the growing shoot of evil from the moment it 
showed above the surface. 

As he could not be everywhere, however, it is evi- 


AGAINST TIME. 


209 


dent that many offenses, trivial or otherwise, must have 
remained unsuspected and unpunished, but for a theory 
which he had originated and took great pains to propa- 
gate among his pupils. 

The theory was that every right-minded boy ought 
to feel himself in such a fiduciary position toward his 
master that it became a positive duty to acquaint him 
with any delinquencies he might happen to observe 
among his fellows ; and, if, at the same time, he was 
oppressed by a secret burden on his own conscience, it 
was understood that he might hope that the joint 
revelation would go far to mitigate his own punish- 
ment. 

It is doubtful whether this system, though I believe 
it is found successful in Jesuit colleges, can be usefully 
applied to English boys ; whether it may not produce a 
habit of mutual distrust and suspicion, and a tone the 
reverse of healthy. 

For myself, I am inclined to think that a school- 
master will find it better in the long run, for both the 
character and morals of his school, if he is not too anx- 
ious to play the detective, and refrains from encourag- 
ing the more weak-minded or cowardly boys to save 
themselves by turning “ schoolmaster’s evidence.” 

Dr. Grimstone thought otherwise ; but it must be 
allowed that the system, as in vogue at Crichton House, 
did not work well. 

There were boys, of course, who took a sturdier 
view of their own rights and duties, and despised the 
tale-bearers as they deserved ; there were others, also, 
too timid and too dependent on the good opinion of 
others to risk the loss of it by becoming informers ; but 
there were always one or two whose consciences were 


210 


VICE VERSl. 


unequal to the burden of their neighbor’s sin, and could 
only be relieved by frank and full confession. 

Unhappily they had, as a general rule, contributed 
largely to the sum of guilt themselves, and did not 
resort to disclosure until detection seemed reasonably 
imminent. 

Chawner was the leader of this conscientious band ; 
he reveled in the system. It gave him the means at 
once of gratifying the almost universal love of power 
and of indulging a catlike passion for playing with the 
feelings of others, which, it is to be hoped, is more 
uncommon. 

He knew he was not popular, but he could procure 
most of the incidents of popularity ; he could have his 
little court of cringing toadies ; he could levy his tribute 
of conciliatory presents, and vent many private spites 
and hatreds into the bargain — and he generally did. 

Having himself a tendency to acts of sly disobe- 
dience, he found it a congenial pastime to set the 
fashion from time to time in some one of the peccadil- 
loes to which boyhood is prone, and to which the doc- 
tor’s somewhat restrictive code added a large number, 
and, as soon as he saw a sufficient number of his com- 
panions satisfactorily implicated, his opportunity came. 

He would take the chief culprits aside, and profess, 
in strict confidence, certain qualms of conscience which 
he feared could only be appeased by unburdening his 
guilt-laden soul. 

To this none would have had any right to object — 
had it not necessarily, or at least from Chawner’s point 
of view, involved a full, true, and particular account of 
the misdoings of each and every one; and, consequently, 
for some time after these professions of misgivings. 


AGAINST TIME. 


211 


Chawner would be surrounded by a little crowd of 
anxiously obsequious friends, all trying hard to over- 
come his scruples or persuade him, at least, to omit 
their names from his revelations. 

Sometimes he would affect to be convinced by their 
arguments and send them away reassured ; at others 
his scruples would return in an aggravated form ; and 
so he would keep them on tenter-hooks of suspense for 
days and weeks, until he was tired of the amusement — 
for this practicing on the fears of weaker natures is a 
horribly keen delight to some— or until some desperate 
little dog, unable to bear his torture any longer, would 
threaten to give himself up and make an end of it. 

Then Chawner, to do him justice, always relieved 
him from so disagreeable a necessity, and would go 
softly into the doctor’s study, and, in a subdued and 
repentant tone, pour out his general confession for the 
public good. 

Probably the doctor did not altogether respect the 
instruments he saw fit to use in this way ; some would 
have declined to hear the informer out, flogged him 
well, and forgotten it ; but Dr. Grimstone — though he 
was hardly likely to be impressed by these exhibitions 
of noble candor, and did not fail to see that the pros- 
pect of obtaining better terms for the penitent himself 
had something to do with them — yet encouraged the 
system as a matter of policy, went thoroughly into the 
whole affair, and made it the cause of an explosion 
which he considered would clear the moral atmosphere 
for some time to come. 

I hope that, after this explanation, Chawner’s oppo- 
sition to Mr. Bultitude’s plans will be better under- 
stood. 


212 


VICE VERSl. 


After tea, he made Paul a little sign to follow him, 
and the two went out together into the little glass- 
house beyond the school-room ; it was dark, but there 
was light enough from the room inside for them to see 
each other’s face. 

‘‘ Now, sir,” began Paul, with dignity, when he had 
closed the glass door behind him, “perhaps you’ll be 
good enough to tell me how you mean to prevent me 
from seeing Dr. Grimstone, and telling him — telling 
him what I have to tell him ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you, Dickie,” said Chawner, with an evil 
smirk. “You shall know soon enough.” 

“ Don’t stand grinning at me like that, sir,” said the 
angry Mr. Bultitude ; “ say it out at once ; it will make 
no difference to me, I give you warning ! ” 

“ Oh, yes it will, though. I think it will. Wait. I 
heard all you said to Grimstone in the study to-day 
about that girl — Connie Davenant, you know.” 

“ I don’t care ; I am innocent. I have nothing to 
reproach myself with.” 

“ What a liar you are ! ” said Chawner, more in 
admiration than rebuke. “You told him you never 
gave her any encouragement, didn’t you ? And he said, 
if he ever found you had, nothing could save you from 
a licking, didn’t he ? ” 

“ He did,” said Paul ; “ he was quite right from his 
point of view — what then ? ” 

“ Why this,” said Chawner : “ Do you remember 
giving Jolland, the last Sunday of last term, a note for 
that very girl ? ” 

“I never did ! ” said poor Mr. Bultitude, “I neve 
saw the wretched girl before.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Chawner, “ but I’ve got the note in my 


AGAINST TIME. 


213 


pocket ! J olland was seedy, and asked me to take it for 
you, and I read it, and it was so nicely written that I 
thought I should like to keep it myself, and so I did — 
and here it is ! ” 

And he drew out with great caution a piece of 
crumpled paper and showed it to the horrified old gen- 
tleman. “ Don’t snatch . . . it’s rude ; there it is, you 
see : ‘ My dear Connie ’ . . . ‘ yours ever, Dick Bul- 

titude.’ No, you don’t come any nearer . . . there, 
now it’s safe. . . . Now what do you mean to do ? ” 

“I — I don’t know,” said Paul, feeling absolutely 
checkmated. “ Give me time.” 

“ I tell you what I mean to do ; I shall keep my eye 
on you, and, directly I see you making ready to go to 
Grimstone, I shall get up first and take him this . . . 
then you’ll be done for. You’d better give in, really, 
Dickie ! ” 

The note was too evidently genuine. Dick must 
have written it (as a matter of fact he had ; in a mo- 
ment of pique, no doubt, at some caprice of his real 
enslaver Dulcie’s — but his fickleness brought fatal re- 
sults on his poor father’s undeserving head) ; if this 
diabolical Chawner carried out his threats, he would in- 
deed be “ done for ” ; he did not yet fully understand 
the other’s motive, but he thought that he feared lest 
Paul, in declaring his own sorrows, might also accuse 
Tipping and Coker of acts of cruelty and oppression, 
which Chawner proposed to denounce himself at some 
more convenient opportunity ; he hesitated painfully. 

‘‘Well,” said Chawner, “make up your mind; are 
you going to tell him, or not ? ” 

“ I must ! ” said Paul, hoarsely. “ I promise you I 
shall not bring any other names in ... I don’t want to 


214 


VICE VERSA. 


... I only want to save myself — and I can’t stand it 
any longer. Why should you stand between me and 
my rights in this currish way ? I didn’t know there 
were boys like you in the world, sir ; you’re a young 
monster ! ” 

“ I don’t mean you to tell the doctor anything at 
all,” said Chawner. “ I shall do what I said.” 

“ Then do your worst ! ” cried Paul, stung to de- 
fiance. 

“Very well, then,” returned Chawner, meekly, “I 
will — and we’ll see who wins 1 ” 

And they went back to the school-room again, where 
Mr. Bultitude, boiling with rage and seriously alarmed 
as well, tried to sit down and appear as if nothing had 
happened. 

Chawner sat down too, in a place from which he 
could see all Paul’s movements, and they both watched 
one another anxiously from the corners of their eyes till 
the doctor came in. 

“ It’s a foggy evening,” he said as he entered ; “ the 
younger boys had better stay in. Chawner, you and 
the rest of the first form can go to church ; get ready 
at once.” 

Paul’s heart leaped with triumph ; with his enemy 
out of the way, he could carry out his purpose unhin- 
dered. The same thing apparently occurred to Chaw- 
ner, for he said, mildly, “ Please, sir, may Richard Bul- 
titude come too ? ” 

‘‘ Can’t Bultitude ask leave for himself ? ” said the 
doctor. 

“ I, sir ! ” said the horrified Paul, ‘‘ it’s a mistake — I 
don’t want to go. I — I don’t feel very well this even- 
ing ! ” 


AGAINST TIME. 


215 


“Then you see, Chawner, you misunderstood him. 
By the way, Bultitude, there was something you were 
to tell me, I think ! ” 

Chawner’s small, glittering eyes were fixed on Paul 
menacingly as he managed to stammer that he did want 
to say something in private. 

“Very well, I am going out to see a friend for an 
hour or so ; when I come back I will hear,” and he left 
the room abruptly. 

Chawner would very probably have petitioned to 
stay in that evening as well, had he had time and pres- 
ence of mind to do so ; as it was, he was obliged to go 
away and get ready for church ; but when his prepara- 
tions were made he came back to Paul, and leaning over 
him said, with an unpleasant scowl, “ If I get back in 
time, Bultitude, we’ll see whether you balk me quite so 
easily. If I come back and find you’ve done it — I shall 
take in that letter ! ” 

“You may do what you please, then,” said Paul, in 
a high state of irritation ; “ I shall be well out of your 
reach by that time. Mow have the goodness to take 
yourself off.” 

As he went, Mr. Bultitude thought, “ I never in all 
my life saw such a fellow as that, never ! It would 
give me real pleasure to hire some one to kick him.” 

The evening passed quietly ; the boys left at home 
sat in their places, reading or pretending to read. Mr. 
Blinkhorn, left in charge of them, was at his table in 
the corner noting up his diary. Paul was free for a 
time to think over his position. 

At first he was calm and triumphant ; his dearest 
hopes, his long-wished-for opportunity of a fair and un- 
prejudiced hearing, were at last to be fulfilled ; Chaw- 


216 


VICE VERSA. 


ner was well out of the way for the best part of two 
hours — the doctor was very unlikely to be detained 
nearly so long over one call. His one anxiety was lest 
he might not be able, after all, to explain himself in a 
thoroughly effective manner; he planned out a little 
scheme for doing this. 

He must begin gradually, of course, so as not to 
alarm the schoolmaster or raise doubts of his sincerity, 
or, worse still, his sanity. Perhaps a slight glance at 
instances of extraordinary interventions of the super- 
natural from the earliest times, tending to show the ex- 
treme probability of their survival on rare occasions 
even to the present day, might be a prudent and cau- 
tious introduction to the subject — only he could not 
think of any, and, after all, it might weary the doctor. 

He would start somewhat in this manner : ‘‘You can 
not, my dear sir, have failed to observe, since our meet- 
ing this year, a certain difference in my manner and 
bearing” — one’s projected speeches are somehow gener- 
ally couched in finer language than, when it comes to 
the point, the tongue can be prevailed upon to utter. 
Mr. Bultitude learned this opening sentence by heart ; 
he thought it taking and neat — the sort of thing to fix 
his hearer’s attention from the first. 

After that, he found it difiicult to get any further ; 
he knew himself that all he was about to describe was 
plain, unvarnished fact — but how would it strike on a 
stranger’s ear ? he found himself seeking ways in which 
to tone down the glaring improbability of the thing as 
much as possible, but in vain. “ I don’t know how I 
shall ever get it all out,” he told himself at last ; “ if I 
think about it much longer I shall begin to disbelieve in 
it myself.” 


AGAINST TIME. 


217 


Here Biddlecomb came up in a confidential manner 
and sat down by Paul. “ Dick,” he began, in rather a 
trembling voice, “ did I hear the doctor say something 
about your having something to tell him ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, Lord, here’s another of them now ! ” thought 
Paul. “You are right, young sir,” he said ; “have you 
any objection ? mention it, you know, if you have, pray 
mention it. It’s a matter of life and death to me, but 
if you at all disapprove, of course that ought to be 
final ! ” 

“ Ho, but,” protested Biddlecomb, “ I — I daresay I’ve 
not treated you very well lately, I — ” 

“You were kind enough to suggest several very un- 
commonly unpleasant ways of annoying me, sir,” said 
Paul, resentfully, “if you mean that. You’ve kicked 
me more than once, and your handkerchief, unless I am 
very much mistaken, had the biggest and the hardest 
knot in it yesterday. If that gives you the right to in- 
terfere and dictate to me now, like your amiable friend. 
Master Chawner, I suppose you have it.” 

! “ How you’re angry,” said Biddlecomb, humbly ; “ I 

don’t wonder at it. I’ve behaved like a cad, I know, 
but, and this is what I wanted to say, I was sorry for 
you all the time.” 

J “ That’s very comforting,” said Paul, dryly ; “ thank 
: you. I’m vastly obliged to you.” 

“ I was, though,” said Biddlecomb ; “ I — ^I was led 
(away by the other fellows — I always liked you, you 
[know, Bultitude.” 

i; “ You’ve a very odd way of showing your affection,” 
i remarked Mr. Bultitude; “but go on, let me hear all 
I you have to say.” 

1 “It isn’t much,” said Biddlecomb, quite broken 


218 


VICE VERSl. 


down ; only don’t sneak of me this time, Dick j let 
me off, there’s a good fellow. I’ll stick up for you after 
this, I will really. You used not to he a fellow for 
sneaking once. It’s caddish to sneak ! ” 

“ Don’t he alarmed, my good friend,” said Paul ; 

I won’t poach on that excellent young man Chawner’s 
preserves. What I am going to tell the doctor has 
nothing to do with you.” 

‘‘ On your honor ? ” said Biddlecomh, eagerly. 
‘‘Yes,” said Paul, testily, “on my honor. Kow, 
perhaps, you’ll let me alone, h^o, I won’t shake hands, 
sir. I’ve had to accept your kicks, hut I don’t want 
your friendship.” 

Biddlecomh went off, looking slightly ashamed of 
himself, hut visibly relieved from a haunting fear. 
“ Thank goodness ! ” thought Paul, “ he wasn’t as ob- 
stinate as the other fellow. What a set they are ! I 
knew it ; there’s another hoy coming up now ! ” 

And, indeed, one boy after another came up in the 
same way as Biddlecomh had done, some cringing more 
than others, but all vowing that they had never in- 
tended to do any harm, and entreating him to change 
his mind about complaining of his ill-treatment. They 
brought little offerings to propitiate him and prove 
the depth of their unaltered regard — pencil-cases and 
pocket-knives, and so forth, until they drove Paul 
nearly to desperation. However, he succeeded in dis- 
pelling their fears after some hot arguments, and had 
just sent away the last suppliant when he saw Jolland, 
too, rise and come toward him. 

Jolland leaned across Paul’s desk with folded anus 
and looked him full in the face with his shallow, light- 
green eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve said to all 


AGAINST TIME.’ 


219 


those chaps,” he began ; they’ve come hack looking 
precious glum, but they won’t tell me what you said ” 
(Mr. Bultitude had in satisfying their alarm taken care 
to let them know his private opinion of them, which 
was not flattering) ; “ but I’ve got something to say to 
you, and it’s this : I never thought you would quite 
come down to this sort of thing ! ” 

“ What sort of thing ? ” said Paul, who was begin- 
ning to have enough of it. 

“ Why, going up and letting on against all of us — 
it’s mean, you know. If you have got bashed about 
pretty well since you came back, it’s been all your own 
fault, and you know it. Last term you got on well 
enough — this time you began to be queer and nasty the 
very first day you came. I thought it was one of your 
larks at first, but I don’t know what it is now, and I 
don’t care. I stood up for you as long as I could, till 
you acted like a funk yesterday. Then I took my share 
in lamming you, and I’d do it again. But, if you are 
cad enough to pay us all out in this way. I’ll have no 
more to do with vou — mind that. That’s all I came to 
say.” 

This was an unpalatable way of putting things, but 
Paul could not help seeing that there was some truth 
in it. Jolland had been kind to him, too, in a care- 
less sort of way, and at some cost to himself ; so it 
was with more mildness than temper that he answered 
him. 

“You’re on the wrong tack, my boy, the wrong 
tack. I’ve no wish to tell tales of any one, as I’ve been 
trying to explain to your friends. There’s something 
the matter with me which you wouldn’t understand if 
I told you.” 


220 


VICE VERSl. 


‘‘ Oh, I didn’t know,” said Jolland, mollified ; “ if it’s 
only physic you want.” 

‘‘ Whatever it is,” said Paul, not caring to undeceive 
him, ‘‘ it won’t affect you or any one here, but myself. 
You’re not a bad young fellow, I believe. I don’t want 
to get you into trouble, sir ; you don’t want much as- 
sistance, I’m afraid, in that department. So be off, like 
a good fellow, and leave me in peace.” 

All these interviews had taken time. He was 
alarmed on looking at the clock to see that it was nearly 
eight ; the doctor was a long time over that call. For 
the first time he began to feel uneasy ; he made hurried 
mental calculations as to the probability of the doctor 
or Chawner being the first to return. 

The walk to church took about twenty minutes ; 
say the service took an hour, allowing for the return, 
he might expect Chawner by about half -past eight ; it 
was striking the hour now — half an hour only in which 
he could hope for any favorable result from the inter- 
view ! 

For he saw this plainly, that if Chawner were once 
permitted to get the doctor’s ear first and show him 
that infamous love-note, no explanation of his (even if 
he had nerve to make it then, which he doubted) could 
possibly seem anything more than a desperate and far- 
fetched excuse ; if he could anticipate Chawner, on the 
other hand, and once convince the doctor of the truth 
of his story, the informer’s malice would fall flat. 

And still the long hand went rapidly on, as Mr. 
Bultitude sat staring stupidly at it with a faint sick 
feeling — it had passed the quarter now — why did the 
doctor delay in this unwarrantable manner ? What a 
farce social civilities were — if he had allowed himself 


AGAINST TIME. 


221 


to be prevailed on to stay to supper ! Twenty minutes 
past ; Chawner and the others might return at any 
moment — a ring at the bell ; they were there ! all was 
over now — no, he was saved, that was Dr. Grimstone’s 
voice in the hall — what an unconscionable time he was 
taking off his great coat and gloves ! 

But all comes to the man who waits. In another 
moment the Doctor looked in, singled out Mr. Bultitude 
with a sharp glance, and a ‘‘ How, Bultitude, I will 
hear you ! ” and led the way to his study. 

Paul staggered rather than walked after him ; as 
usual at the critical moment, his carefully prepared 
opening had deserted him — his head felt heavy and 
crowded — he wanted to run away, but forced himself 
to overcome such a suicidal proceeding and follow to 
the study. 

There was a lighted reading-lamp with a green glass 
shade upon the table. The doctor sat down by it in an 
arm-chair by the fire, crossed his legs, and joined the 
tops of his fingers together. ‘‘How, Bultitude,” he 
said again. 

“Might I — might I sit down ?” said poor Mr. Bulti- 
tude, in a thick voice ; it was all that occurred to him 
to say. 

“ Sit, by all means,” said the doctor, blandly. 

So Paul drew a chair opposite the doctor and sat 
down. He tried desperately to clear his head and 
throat and begin ; but the only distinct thought in his 
mind just then was that the green lamp-shade lent a 
particularly ghastly hue to the doctor’s face. 

“ Take your time, Bultitude,” said the latter, after a 
long minute, in which a little skeleton clock on the man- 
telpiece ticked loudly ; “ there’s no hurry, my boy.” 


222 


VICE VERSA. 


But this only reminded Paul that there was every 
need for hurry. Chawner might come in, and follow 
him here, unless he made haste. 

Still, he could only say: “You see me in a very 
agitated state. Dr. Grimstone — a very agitated state, 
sir.” 

The doctor gave a short, dry cough. “ Well, Bulti- 
tude,” he said. 

“ The fact is, sir. I’m in a most unfortunate position, 
and — and the worst of it is, I don’t know how to be- 
gin.” Here he made another dead stop, while the doc- 
tor raised his heavy eyebrows, and looked at the clock. 

“ Do you see any prospect of your finding yourself 
able to begin soon ? ” he inquired, at last, with rather 
suspicious suavity. “ Perhaps if you came to me later 
on — ” 

“ Hot for the world ! ” said Paul, in a highly nervous 
condition. “ I shall begin very soon, doctor, I shall be- 
gin directly. Mine is such a very singular case ; it’s 
difficult, as you see, to — to open it ! ” 

“Have you anything on your mind?” asked the 
doctor, suddenly. 

Paul could hear steps and voices in the adjoining 
cloak-room — the churchgoers had returned. “Yes — 
no ! ” he answered, losing his head completely now. 

“ That’s a somewhat extraordinary, not to say an 
ambiguous, reply,” said the doctor ; “ what am I to 
understand by — ” 

There was a tap at the door. Paul started to his 
feet in a panic. “ Don’t let him in ! ” he shrieked, find- 
ing his voice at last. “ Hear me first — you shall hear 
me first ! Say that other rascal is not to come in. He 
wants to ruin me ! ” 


AGAINST TIME. 


223 


“I was going to say I was engaged,” said the doc- 
tor ; ‘‘but there’s something under this I must under- 
stand. Come in, whoever you are.” 

And the door opened softly, and Chawner stepped 
meekly in ; he was rather pale, and breathed hard, but 
was otherwise quite composed. 

“ 'Now, then, Chawner,” said the doctor, impatient- 
ly, “ what is it ? Have you something on your mind 
too?” 

“Please, sir,” said Chawner, “has Bultitude told 
you anything yet ? ” 

“ Ho ; why ? Hold your tongue, Bultitude. I shall 
hear Chawner now — not you ! ” 

“ Because, sir,” explained Chawner, “he knew I had 
made up my mind to tell you something I thought you 
ought to know about him, and so he threatened to come 
first and tell some falsehood (I’m sure I don’t know 
what) about me, sir. I think I ought to be here too.” 

“ It’s a lie ! ” shouted Paul. “ What a villain that 
boy is ! Don’t believe a word he says. Dr. Grimstone ; 
it’s all false — all ! ” 

“ This is very suspicious,” said the doctor ; “ if your 
conscience were good, Bultitude, you could have no ob- 
ject in preventing me from hearing Chawner. Chawner, 
in spite of some obvious defects in his character,” he 
went on, with a gulp (he never could quite overcome a 
repulsion to the boy), “ is, on the whole, a right-minded 
and, ah, conscientious boy. I hear Chawner first.” 

“ Then, sir, if you please,” said Chawner, with an 
odious side smirk of triumph at Paul, who, quite 
crushed by the horror of the situation, had collapsed 
feebly on his chair again, “ I thought it was my duty 
to let you see this. I found it to-day in Bultitude’s 


VICE VERSl. 


224 

prayer-book, sir.” And he handed Dick’s unlucky scrawl 
to the doctor, who took it to the lamp and read it hur- 
riedly through. 

After that there was a temble moment of dead 
silence ; then the doctor looked up and said, shortly : 
“ You did well to tell me of this, Chawner ; you may 
go now.” 

When they were alone once more he turned upon 
the speechless Paul with furious scorn and indignation. 
“ Contemptible liar and hypocrite,” he thundered, pac- 
ing restlessly up and down the room in his excitement, 
till Paul felt very like Daniel, without his sense of se- 
curity, ‘‘you are unmasked — unmasked, sir! You led 
me to believe that you were as much shocked and 
pained at this girl’s venturing to write to you as I could 
be myself. You called it, quite correctly, ‘forward and 
improper ; ’ you pretended you had never given her the 
least encouragement — had not heard her name even — 
till to-day. And here is a note, written, as I should 
imagine, some time since, in which you address her as 
‘ Connie Davenant,’ and have the impudence to admire 
the hat she wore the Sunday before ! I shudder, sir, to 
think of such duplicity, such precocious and shameless 
depravity. It astounds me. It deprives me of all 
power to think ! ” 

Paul made some faint and inarticulate remark about 
being a family man — always most particular, and so 
forth ; luckily it passed unheard. 

“ What shall I do with you ? ” continued the doctor ; 
“how shall I punish such monstrous misconduct?” 

“ Don’t ask me, sir,” said Paul, desperately — “ only, 
for heaven’s sake, get it over as soon as possible.” 

“ If I linger, sir,” retorted the doctor, “ it is because 


AGAINST TIME. 


225 


I have grave doubts whether your offense can be expi- 
ated by a mere flogging — whether that is not altogether 
too light a retribution.” 

‘‘ He can’t want to torture me,” thought Paul. 

‘‘ Yes,” said the doctor again, the doubt has pre- 
vailed. On a mind so hardened the cane would leave 
no lasting impression. I can not allow your innocent 
companions to run the risk of contamination from your 
society. I must not permit this serpent to glide un- 
crushed, this cockatrice to practice his epistolary wiles, 
within my peaceful fold. My mind is made up — at 
whatever cost to myself — however it may distress and 
grieve your good father, who is so pathetically anxious 
for you to do him credit, sir. I must do my duty to 
the parents of the boys intrusted to my care. I shall 
not flog you, sir, for I feel it would be useless. I shall 
expel you.” 

“ What ! ” Paul leaped up incredulous. Expel 
me ? Do I hear you aright. Dr. Grimstone ? Say it 
again — you will expel me ? ” 

“ I have said it,” the doctor said, sternly ; ‘‘ no ex- 
postulation can move me now ” (as if Mr. Bultitude was 
likely to expostulate !). “ Mrs. Grimstone will see that 

your boxes are packed the first thing to-morrow morn- 
ing, and I shall take you myself to the station, and con- 
sign you to the home you have covered with blushes 
and shame, by the 9.15 train, and I shall write a letter 
to-night explaining the causes for your dismissal.” 

Mr. Bultitude covered his face with his hands, to 
hide, not his shame and distress, but his indecent rap- 
ture. It seemed almost too good to be true! He saw 
himself about to be provided with every means of reach- 
ing home in comfort and safety. He need dread no 


226 


VICE VERSl. 


pursuit now. There was no chance, either, of his being 
forced to return to the prison-house ; the doctor’s letter 
would convince even Dick of the impossibility of that. 
And, best of all, this magnificent stroke of good luck 
had been obtained without the ignominy and pain of a 
flogging, without even the unpleasant necessity of tell- 
ing his strange secret. 

But (having gained some experience during his short 
stay at the school) he had the duplicity to pretend to 
sob bitterly. 

‘‘ But one night more, sir,” continued the doctor, 
shall you pass beneath this roof, and that apart from 
your fellows. You will occupy the spare bedroom until 
the morning, when you quit the school in disgrace — ^for 
ever.” 

I said in another chapter that this Sunday would find 
Paul, at its close, after a trying course of emotions, in 
a state of delicious ecstasy of pure relief and happiness 
— and really that scarcely seems too strong an expres- 
sion for his feelings. 

When he found himself locked securely into a com- 
fortable, warm bedroom, with curtains and a carpet in 
it, safe from the persecutions of all those terrible boys, 
and when he remembered that this was actually the last 
night of his stay here — that he would certainly see his 
own home before noon next day — the reaction was so 
powerful that he could not refrain from skipping and 
leaping about the room in a kind of hysterical gayety. 

And as he laid his head down on a yielding lavender- 
scented pillow, his thoughts went back without a pang 
to the varied events of the day ; they had been painful, 
very painful, but it was well worth while to have gone 
through them to appreciate fully the delightful intensity 


AGAINST TIME. 


227 


of the contrast. He freely forgave all his tormentors, 
even Chawner, for had not Chawner procured his re- 
lease ? and he closed his eyes at last with a smile of 
Sybaritic satisfaction and gentle longing for the Mon- 
day’s dawn to break. 

And yet some, after his experiences, would have had 
their misgivings. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A RESPITE. 

“ Discipulanim inter jubeo plorare cathedras.” 

Blithe and gay was Mr. Bultitude when he opened 
his eyes on Monday morning and realized his incredible 
good fortune ; in a few hours he would be traveling 
safely and comfortably home, with every facility for 
regaining his rights. He chuckled — though his sense of 
humor was not large — he chuckled, as he lay snugly in 
bed, to think of Dick’s discomfiture on seeing him return 
so unexpectedly ; he began to put it down, quite um 
warrantably, to his own cleverness, as having conceived 
and executed such a stroke of genius as procuring his 
own expulsion. 

He remained in bed until long after the getting-up 
bell had rung, feeling that his position insured him per- 
fect impunity in this, and when he rose at length it was 
in high spirits, and he dressed himself with a growing 
toleration for things in general, very unlike his ordinary 
frame of mind. When he had finished his toilet, the 
doctor entered the room. 

“ Bultitude,” he said, gravely, “ before sending you 
from us, I should like to hear from your own lips that 
you are not altogether without contrition for your con- 
duct.” 


A RESPITE. 


229 


Mr. Bultitude considered that such an acknowledg- 
ment could not possibly do any harm, so he said — as, 
indeed, he might with perfect truth — that “he very 
much regretted what had passed.” 

“I am glad to hear that,” said the doctor, more 
briskly, “very glad; it relieves me from a very painful 
responsibility. It may not impossibly induce me to take 
a more lenient view of your case.” 

“Oh!” gasped Mr. Bultitude, feeling very uncom- 
fortable all at once. 

“Yes; it is a serious step to ruin a boy’s career at its 
outset by unnecessary harshness. Nothing, of course, 
can palliate the extreme baseness of your behavior. 
Still, from certain faint indications in your character of 
nobler things, I do not despair even yet (after you have 
received a public lesson at my hands, which you will 
never forget) of rearing you to become in time an orna- 
ment to the society in which it will be your lot to move. 
I will not give up in despair — I will persevere a little 
longer.” 

“Thank you! ” Paul faltered, with a sudden sinking 
sensation. 

“Mrs. Grimstone, too,” said the doctor, “has been 
interceding for you; she has represented to me that a 
public expression of my view of your conduct, together 
with a sharp, severe dose of physical pain, would be 
more likely to effect a radical improvement in your 
character, and to soften your perverted heart, than if I 
sent you away in hopeless disgrace, without giving you 
an opportunity of showing a desire to amend.” 

“It’s — ^very kind of Mrs. Grimstone,” said Paul, 
faintly. 

“ Then I hope you will show your appreciation of 


230 


VICE VERSA. 


her kindness. Yes, I will not expel you. I will give 
you one more chance to retrieve your lost reputation. 
But, for your own sake, and as a public warning, I shall 
take notice of your offense in public. I shall visit it 
upon you by a sound flogging before the whole school 
at eleven o’clock. You need not come down till then ; 
your breakfast will be sent up to you.” 

Paul made a frantic attempt to dissuade him from 
his terrible determination. “ Dr. Grimstone,” he said, 
“ I — I should much prefer being expelled, if it is all the 
same to you.” 

‘‘It is not all the same to me,” said the doctor. 
“ This is mere pride and obstinacy, B altitude ; I should 
do wrong to take any notice of it.” 

“I — I tell you I have great objection to — ^to being 
flogged,” said Paul, eagerly ; “ it wouldn’t improve me 
at all ; it would harden me, sir — harden me. I — I can 
not allow you to flog me. Dr. Grimstone. I have strong 
prejudices against the system of corporal punishment. 
I object to it on principle. Expulsion would make me 
quite a different being, I assure you ; it would reform 
me — save me — it would indeed.” 

“ So, to escape a little personal inconvenience, you 
would be content to bring sorrow upon your worthy 
father’s gray head, would you, sir ? ” said the doctor ; 
“I shall not oblige you in this. Nor, I may add, will 
your cowardice induce me to spare you in your coming 
chastisement. I leave you, sir ; we shall meet again at 
eleven ! ” 

And he stalked out of the room. Perhaps, though 
he did not admit this even to himself, there were more 
considerations for commuting the sentence of expulsion 
than those he had mentioned. Boys are not often ex- 


A EESPITE. 


231 


pelled from private schools, except for especially heinous 
offenses, and in this case there was no real reason why 
the doctor should be Quixotic enough to throw up a 
portion of his income — particularly if he could produce 
as great a moral effect by other means. 

But his clemency was too much for Mr. Bultitude ; 
he threw himself on the bed and raved at the hideous 
fate in store for him ; ten short minutes ago, and he 
had been so happy— so certain of release — and now, not 
only was he as far from all hope of escape as ever, but 
he had the certainty before him of a sound flogging in 
less than two hours ! 

Just after something has befallen us which, for good 
or ill, will make a great change in our lives, what a 
totally new aspect the common every-day things about 
us are apt to wear — the book we were reading, the let- 
ter we had begun, the picture we knew — what a new 
and tender attraction they may have for us, or what a 
grim and terrible irony ! 

Something of this Paul felt dimly, as he finished 
dressing, in a dazed, unconscious manner. The com- 
fortable bedroom, with its delicately-toned wall-paper 
and flowery cretonnes, had become altogether hateful 
in his eyes now. Instead of feeling grateful (as he 
surely ought to have been) for the one night of per- 
fect security and comfort he had passed there, he only 
loathed it for the delusive peace it had brought him. 

There was a gentle tap at the door, and Dulcie came 
in, bearing a tray with his breakfast, and looking like 
a little royalist bearing food to a fugitive cavalier ; 
though Paul did not quite carry out his share of the 
simile. 

“ There ! ” she said, almost cheerfully, “ I got mam- 


232 


VICE VEESl. 


ma to let me take up your breakfast ; and there’s an 
egg for you, and muffins.” 

Mr. Bultitude sat on a chair and groaned. 

“You might say ‘Thank you,’ said Dulcie, pouting. 
“ That other girl wouldn’t have brought you up much 
breakfast if she’d been in my place. I was going to tell 
you that I’d forgiven you, because very likely you never 
meant her to write to you ” (Dulcie had not been told 
the sequel to the Davenant episode, which was quite as 
well for Paul). “ But you don’t seem to care whether 
I do or not.” 

“ I feel so miserable ! ” sighed Paul. 

“ Then you must drink some coffee,” prescribed Dul- 
cie, decidedly; “and you must eat some breakfast. I 
brought an egg on purpose ; it’s so strengthening, you 
know.” 

“ Don’t ! ” cried Paul, with a short howl of distretss 
at this suggestion. “Don’t talk about the — the flog- 
ging ; I can’t bear it.” 

“ But it’s not papa’s new cane, you know, Dick,” 
said Dulcie, consolingly. “ I’ve hidden that ; it’s only 
the old one, and you always said that didn’t hurt so 
very much, after a little while. It isn’t as if it was the 
horse-whip, either. Papa lost that out riding in the 
holidays.” 

“ Oh, the horse-whip’s worse, is it ? ” said Paul, with 
a sickly smile. 

“ Tom says so,” said Dulcie. “ After all, Dick, it 
will be all over in five minutes, or, perhaps, a little 
longer, and I do think you oughtn’t to mind that so 
much, now, after mamma and I have begged you off 
from being expelled. W^e might never have seen one 
another again, Dick ! ” 


A UESPITB. 


233 


‘‘You begged me off ! ” cried Paul. 

“Yes,” said Dulcie ; “papa wouldn’t change his 
mind for ever so long — till I coaxed him. I couldn’t 
bear to let you go.” 

“ You’ve done a very cruel thing,” said Paul. “ For 
such a little girl as you are, you’ve done an immense 
amount of mischief. But for you, that letter would not 
have been found out. You need not have spoiled my 
only chance of getting out of this horrible place ! ” 

Dulcie set down the tray, and, putting her hands 
behind her, leaned against a corner of a wardrobe. 

“ And is that all you say to me ? ” she said, with a 
little tremble in her voice. 

“ That is all,” said Paul. “ I’ve no doubt you meant 
well, but you shouldn’t have interfered. All this has 
come upon me through that. Take away the breakfast. 
It makes me ill even to look at it.” 

Dulcie shook out her long brown hair, and clinched 
her pretty white fist in an undeniable passion, for she 
had something of her father’s hot temper when roused. 
“Very well, then,” she said, moving with great dignity 
toward the door. “ I’m very sorry I ever did interfere. 
I wish I’d let you be sent home to your papa, and see 
what he’d do to you. But I’ll never, never interfere 
one bit with you again. I won’t say one single word 
to you any more. . . . I’ll never even look at you if 
you want me to ever so much. ... I shall tell Tipping 
he can hit you as much as ever he likes, and I shall show 
Tom where I put the new cane — and I only hope it will 
hurt ! ” And with this parting shot she was gone. 

Mr. Bultitude wandered disconsolately about the 
upper part of the house after this, not daring to go 
down, and not able to remain in any one place. The 


234 


VICE VERSl. 


maids wlio came up to make the beds looked at him 
with pitiful interest, but he was too proud to implore 
help from them. To hide would only make matters 
worse, for, as he had not a penny in his pocket, and no 
probability of being able to borrow one, he must re- 
main in the house till hunger forced him from his hiding- 
place— supposing they did not hunt him out long before 
that time. 

The shouts of the boys in the playground during 
their half-hour’s play had long since died away ; he 
heard the clock in the hall strike eleven — time for him 
to seek his awful rendezvous. The doctor had not for- 
gotten him, he found, for presently the butler came up 
and ceremoniously announced that the doctor “ would 
see him now, if he pleased.” 

He stumbled down stairs in a half -unconscious con- 
dition, the butler threw open the two doors which led 
to the schoolroom, and Paul tottered in, more dead than 
alive with shame and fear. 

The whole school were at their places, with no books 
before them, and arranged as if to hear a lecture. Mr. 
Blinkhorn alone was absent, for, not liking these exhi- 
bitions, he had taken an opportunity of slipping out 
into the playground, round which he was now solemnly 
trotting at the double ” with elbows squared and head 
up, an exercise which he said was an excellent thing 
for the back and lungs. He had a habit of suddenly 
leaving the class he was taking to indulge in it for a 
few minutes, returning breathless but refreshed. 

Mr. Tinkler was at his seat, wearing that faint grin 
on his face with which one prepares to see a pig killed 
or a bull-fight, and all the boys fixed their eyes expect- 
antly on Mr. Bultitude as he appeared at the doorway. 


A EESPITE. 


235 


“ Stand there, sir,” said the doctor, who was stand- 
ing at his writing-table in an attitude ; ‘‘ out there in 
the middle, where your schoolfellows can see you.” 
Paul obeyed, and stood where he was told, looking, as 
he felt, absolutely boneless. 

“ Some of those here,” began the doctor in an im- 
pressive bass, “ may wonder why I have called you all 
together on this, the first day of the week ; most of 
those who reside under my roof are acquainted with, 
and I trust execrate, the miserable cause of my doing 
so. 

“If there is one virtue which I have striven to im- 
plant more than any other in your breasts,” he contin- 
ued, “ it is the cultivation of a modest and becoming 
reserve in your intercourse with those of the opposite 
sex. 

“ With the majority I have, I hope, been successful, 
and it is as painful for me to tell as for you to hear, that 
there exists in your midst a youthful reprobate, trained 
in all the arts of ensnaring the vagrant fancies of inno- 
cent but giddy girlhood. 

“ See him as he cowers there before your gaze, in all 
the bared hideousness of his moral depravity ” (the doc- 
tor, on occasions like these, never spared his best epi- 
thets, and Paul soon began to feel himself a very vil- 
lain) ; “ a libertine, young in years, but old in — in every- 
thing else, who has not scrupled to indite an amatory 
note, so appalling in its familiarity, and so outrageous in 
the warmth of its sentiments, that I can not bring my- 
self to shock your ears with its contents. 

“ You do well to shun him as a moral leper ; but 
how shall I tell you that, not satisfied with pressing his 
effusions upon the shrinking object of his precocious 


236 


VICE VEKSA. 


affections, the miserable being has availed himself of 
the shelter of a church to cloak his insidious advances, 
and even forces a response to them from a heedless and 
imprudent girl ! 

If,” continued the doctor, now allowing his power- 
ful voice to boom to its full compass — ‘‘ if I can succeed 
in bringing this coward, this unmanly dallier in a senti- 
ment which the healthy mind of boyhood rejects as pre- 
mature, to a sense of his detestable conduct ; if I can 
score the lesson upon his flesh so that some faint notion 
of its force and purport may be conveyed to what has 
been supplied to him as a heart, then I shall not have 
lifted this hand in vain ! 

‘‘ lie shall see whether he will be allowed to trail the 
fair name of the school for propriety and correctness of 
deportment in the dust of a pew-floor, and spurn my 
reputation as a preceptor like a church hassock beneath 
his feet ! 

“ I shall say no more ; I will not prolong these stric- 
tures, deserved though they be, beyond their proper 
limits. ... I shall now proceed to act. Richard Bulti- 
tude, remain there till I return to mete out to you with 
no sparing hand the punishment you have so richly 
merited.” 

With these awful words the doctor left the room, 
leaving Paul in a state of abject horror and dread which 
need not be described. Never, never again would he 
joke, as he had been wont to do with Dick in lighter 
moods, on the subject of corporal punishment under any 
circumstances ; it was no fit theme for levity ; if this — 
this outrage were really done to him, he could never be 
able to hold up his head again. What if it were to get 
about in the city ! 


A RESPITE. 


237 


The boys, who had sunk, as they always did, into a 
state of torpid awe under the doctor’s eloquence, now re- 
covered spirits enough to rally Paul with much sprightly 
humor. 

“ He’s gone to fetch his cane,” said some, and imi- 
tated for Paul’s instruction the action of caning by slap- 
ping a ruler upon a copy-book with a dreadful fidelity 
and resonance ; others sought to cross-examine him upon 
the love-letter, it appearing from their casual remarks 
that not a few had been also honored by communiac- 
tions from the artless Miss Davenant. 

It is astonishing how unfeeling even ordinary good- 
natured boys can be at times. 

Sludge sat at his desk with raised shoulders, rubbing 
his hands, and grinning like some malevolent ape. I 
told you, Dickie, you know,” he murmured, “that it 
was better not to cross me.” 

And still the doctor lingered. Some kindly suggested 
that he was “ waxing the cane.” But the more general 
opinion was that he had been detained by some visitor ; 
for it appeared that (though Paul had not noticed it) 
several had heard a ring at the bell. The suspense was 
growing more and more unbearable. 

At last the door opened in a slow, ominous manner, 
and the doctor appeared. There was a visible change 
in his manner, however. The white heat of his indig- 
nation had died out : his expression was grave but dis- 
tinctly softened — and he had nothing in his hand. 

“ I want you outside, Bultitude,” he said ; and Paul, 
still uncertain whether the scene of his disgrace was only 
about to be shifted, or what else this might mean, fol- 
lowed him into the hall. 

“If anything can strike shame and confusion into 


238 


VICE VERSA. 


your soul, Richard,” said the doctor, when they were 
outside, “it will he what I have to tell you now. Your 
unhappy father is here, in the dining-room.” 

Paul staggered. Had Dick the brazen effrontery to 
come here to taunt him in his slavery ? What was the 
meaning of it ? What should he say to him ? He could 
not answer the doctor but by a vacant stare. 

“ I have not seen him yet,” said the doctor. “ He 
has come at a most inopportune moment ” (here Mr. 
Bultitude could not agree with him). “ I shall allow 
you to meet him first, and give you the opportunity of 
breaking your conduct to him. I know how it will 
wring his paternal heart ! ” and the doctor shook his 
head sadly, and turned away. 

With a curious mixture of shame, anger, and impa- 
tience, Paul turned the handle of the dining-room door. 
He was to meet Dick face to face once more. The final 
duel must be fought out between them here. Who 
would be the victor ? 

It was a strange sensation on entering to see the 
image of what he had so lately been standing by the 
mantelpiece. It gave a shock to his sense of his own 
identity. It seemed so impossible that that stout, sub- 
stantial frame could really contain Dick. For an in- 
stant he was totally at a loss for words, and stood pale 
and speechless in the presence of his unprincipled son. 

Dick on his side seemed at least as much embar- 
rassed. He giggled uneasily, and made a sheepish offer 
to shake hands, which was indignantly declined. 

As Paul looked he saw distinctly that his son’s fraud- 
ulent imitation of his father’s personal appearance had 
become deteriorated in many respects since that un- 
happy night when he had last seen it. It was then a 


A RESPITE. 


239 


copy, faultlessly accurate in every detail. It was now 
almost a caricature, a libel ! 

The complexion was nearly sallow, with the excep- 
tion of the nose, which had rather deepened in color. 
The skin was loose and flabby, and the eyes dull and a 
little bloodshot. But perhaps the greatest alteration 
was in the dress. Dick wore an old light tweed shoot- 
ing-coat of his, and a pair of loose trousers of blue serge ; 
while, instead of the formally tied black neckcloth his 
father had worn for a quarter of a century, he had a 
large scarf round his neck of some crude and gaudy 
color ; and the conventional chimney-pot hat had been 
discarded for a shabby old wide-brimmed felt wide- 
awake. 

Altogether, it was by no means the costume which a 
British merchant, with any self-respect whatever, would 
select, even for a country visit. 

And thus they met, as perhaps never, since this 
world was first set spinning down the ringing grooves 
of change, met father and son before ! 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AN EKROK OF JUDGMENT. 

“ The Survivorship of a worthy Man in his Son is a Pleasure scarce in- 
ferior to the Hopes of the Continuance of his own Life.” — Spectator. 

Du hist ein Knabe — sei es immerhin 
Und fahre fort, den Frohlichen zu spielen. 

Schiller, Don Carlos. 

Paul was the first to break a very awkward silence. 
‘‘You young scoundrel ! ” he said, with suppressed 
rage. “ What the devil do you mean by laughing like 
that ? It’s no laughing matter, let me tell you, sir, for 
one of us ! ” 

“ I can’t help laughing,” said Dick ; “ you do look 
so queer ! ” 

“ Queer ! I may well look queer. I tell you that I 
have never, never in my whole life, spent such a per- 
fectly infernal week as this last ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” observed Dick, “ I thought you wouldn’t 
find it all jam ! And yet you seemed to be enjoying 
yourself, too,” he said with a grin, “ from that letter 
you wrote.” 

“ What made you come here ? Couldn’t you be 
content with your miserable victory without coming 
down to crow and jeer at me ? ” 

“ It isn’t that,” said Dick. I — ^I thought I should 
like to see the fellows, and find out how you were get- 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 


241 


ting on, you know.” These, however, were not his only 
and his principal motives. He had come down to get a 
sight of Dulcie. 

“ Well, sir,” said Mr. Bultitude, with ponderous sar- 
casm, ‘‘ you’ll be delighted to hear that I’m getting on 
uncommonly well — oh, uncommonly ! Your high-spir- 
ited young friends batter me to sleep with slippers on 
most nights, and, as a general thing, kick me about 
during the day like a confounded football ! And last 
night, sir, I was going to be expelled ; and this morning 
I’m forgiven and sentenced to be soundly flogged before 
the whole school ! It was just about to take place as 
you came in ; and I’ve every reason to believe it is 
merely postponed ! ” 

“ I say, though,” said Dick, “ you must have been 
going it, rather, you know. I’ve never been expelled. 
Has Chawner been sneaking again? What have you 
been up to ? ” 

“ Nfothing. I solemnly swear — nothing ! They’re 
finding out things you’ve done, and thrashing meP 

“Well,” said Dick, soothingly, “you’ll work them 
all off during the term, I daresay. There aren’t many 
really bad ones. I suppose he’s seen my name cut on 
his writing-table ? ” 

“ NTo ; not that I’m aware of,” said Paul. 

“ Oh, he’d let you hear of it if he had ! ” said Dick. 
“It’s good for a whacking, that is. But, after all, 
what’s a whacking ? I never cared for a whacking.” 

“ But I do care, sir. I care very much, and, I tell 
you, I won’t stand it. I can’t ! Dick,” he said, ab- 
ruptly, as a sudden hope seized him. “You — you 
haven’t come down here to say you’re tired of your 
folly, have you ? Do you want to give it up ? ” 

11 


242 


VICE VERSA. 


“ Rather not,” said Rick. Why should I ? Ro 
school, no lessons, nothing to do but amuse myself, eat 
and drink what I like, and lots of money. It’s not like- 
ly, you know.” 

‘‘ Have you ever thought that you’re bringing your- 
self within reach of the law, sir ? ” said Paul, trying to 
frighten him. “Perhaps you don’t know that there’s 
an offense known as ‘ false personation with intent to 
defraud,’ and that it’s a felony. That’s what you’re 
doing at this moment, sir ! ” 

“ Not any more than you are ! ” retorted Rick. “ I 
never began it. I had as much right to wish to be you 
as you had to wish to be me. You’re just what you 
said you wanted to be, so you can’t complain.” 

“ It’s useless to argue with you, I see,” said Paul. 
“And you’ve no feelings. But I’ll warn you of one 
thing. Whether that is my body or not you’ve fraudu- 
lently taken possession of, I don’t know ; if it is not, it 
is very like mine, and I tell you this about it. The sort 
of life you’re leading it, sir, will very soon make an end 
of you, if you don’t take care. Ro you think that a 
constitution at my age can stand sweet wines and pastry, 
and late hours ? Why, you’ll be laid up with gout in 
another day or two. Ron’t tell me, sir. I know you’re 
suffering from indigestion at this very minute. I can 
see your liver (it may be my liver for anything I know) 
is out of order. I can see it in your eyes.” 

Rick was a little alarmed at this, but he soon said : 
“ Well, and if I am seedy, I can get Barbara to take the 
stone and wish me all right again. Can’t I ? That’s 
easy enough, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, easy enough ! ” said Paul, with a suppressed 
groan. “ But, Rick, you don’t go up to Mincing Lane 


AN ERE-OR OF JUDGMENT. 


243 


in that suit and that hat ? Don’t tell me you do 
that ! ” 

“ When I do go up, I wear them,” said Dick, com- 
posedly. “ Why not ? It’s a roomy suit, and I hate a 
great topper on my head ; I’ve had enough of that here 
on Sundays. But it’s slow up at your office. The chaps 
there aren’t half up to any larks. I made a first-rate 
booby-trap, though, one day for an old yellow buffer 
who came in to see you. He loas in a bait when he 
found the waste-paper basket on his head ! ” 

“ What was his name ? ” said Paul, with forced calm. 

“ Something like ‘ Shells.’ He said he was a very 
old friend of mine, and I told him he lied.” 

‘‘ Shellack — my Canton correspondent — a man I was 
anxious to be of use to when he came over ! ” moaned 
Mr. Bultitude. Miserable young cub, you don’t know 
what mischief you’ve done ! ” 

I Well, it won’t matter much to you now,” said 

: Dick ; “ you’re out of it all.” 

“Do you — do you mean to keep me out of it for 
ever, then ? ” asked Paul. 

“As long as ever I can!” returned Dick, frankly. 

\ “ It will be rather interesting to see what sort of a fel- 

E lovr you’ll grow into — if you ever do grow. Perhaps 
I you will always be like that, you know. This magic is 
I a rum thing to meddle with.” 

' This suggestion almost maddened Paul. He made 
I one stride forward, and faced his son with blazing eyes. 

I “ Do you think I will put up with it ? ” he said, between 
|i his teeth. “ Do you suppose I shall stand calmly by 
I and see you degrading and ruining me? I may never 
be my old self again, but I don’t mean to play into your 
hands for all that. You can’t always keep me here^ 


244 


VICE VERSl. 


and wherever I go I’ll tell my tale. I know you, you 
clumsy rogue, you haven’t the sense to play your part 
with common intelligence now. You would betray 
yourself directly I challenged you to deny my story. 
. . . You know you would. ... You couldn’t face me 
for five minutes. By Gad ! I’ll do it now. I’ll expose 
you before the doctor — ^before the whole school. You 
shall see if you can dispose of me quite so easily as you 
imagine ! ” 

Dick had started back, at first, in unmistakable 
alarm at this unexpected defiance, probably feeling his 
self-possession unequal to such a test ; but, when Paul 
had finished, he said, doggedly : “ Well, you can do it 
if you choose, I suppose. I can’t stop you. But I don’t 
see what good it would do.” 

“ It would show people you were an impudent im- 
postor, sir,” said Paul, sternly, going to the door as if 
to call the doctor, though he shrank secretly from so 
extreme and dangerous a measure. 

There was a hesitation in his manner, in spite of the 
firmness of his words, which Dick was not likely to miss. 
“ Stop ! ” he said. “ Before you call them in, just listen 
to me for a minute. Do you see this ? ” And, opening 
his coat, he pulled out from his waistcoat-pocket one 
end of his watch-chain. Hanging to it, attached by a 
cheap, gilt fastening of some sort, was a small gray 
tablet. Paul knew it at once — ^it was the Garuda Stone. 
‘‘ You know it, I see,” said Dick, as Paul was about to 
move toward him — with what object he scarcely knew 
himself. “Don’t trouble to come any closer. Well, I 
give you fair warning. You can make things very 
nasty for me if you like. I can’t help that ; but, if you 
do, if you try to score off me in any way, now or at any 


i 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 


245 


time, if you don’t keep it up when the doctor comes in, 
I tell you what I shall do. I shall go straight home and 
find young Roly. I shall give him this stone, and just 
tell him to say some wish after me. I don’t believe 
there are many things it can’t do, and all I can say is, 
if you find yourself and all this jolly old school (except 
Dulcie) taken off somewhere and stuck down, all at once, 
thousands of miles away, on a desolate island, or see 
yourself turned into a red Indian, or — or a cab-horse, 
you’ll have yourself to thank for it, that’s all. Now 
you can have them all up and fire away.” 

“ No,” said Paul, in a broken voice, for, wild as the 
threat was, he could not afford to despise it after his ex- 
periences of the stone’s power, I — I was joking, Dick ; 
at least I didn’t mean it. I know, of course, I’m help- 
less. It’s a sad thing for a father to say, but you’ve got 
the best of it. ... I give in. ... I won’t interfere 
with you. There’s only one thing I ask. You won’t 
try any more experiments with that miserable stone. 
. . . You’ll promise me that, at least ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dick ; “it’s all right. I’ll play fair. As 
long as you behave yourself and back me up I won’t 
touch it. I only want to stay as I am. I don’t want to 
hurt you.” 

“ You won’t lose it? ” said Paul, anxiously. “ Couldn’t 
you lock it up ? that fastening doesn’t look very safe.” 

“It will do well enough,” said Dick. “I got it done 
at the watchmaker’s round the corner, for sixpence. But 
I’ll have a stronger ring put in somewhere if I think 
of it.” 

There was a pause, in which the conversation seemed 
about to flag hopelessly, but at last Dick said, almost as 
if he felt some compunction for his present unfilial atti- 


246 


VICE VERSl. 


tude : “ Now, you know, it’s mucli better to take things 
quietly. It can’t be altered now, can it ? And it’s not 
such bad fun being a boy after all — for some things. 
You’ll get into it by and by, you see if you don’t, and 
be as jolly as a sandboy. We shall get along all right 
together, too. I shan’t be hard on you. It isn’t my 
fault that you happen to be at this particular school. 
You chose it ! And after this term you can go to any 
other school you like — Eton or Rugby, or anywhere. I 
don’t mind the expense. Or, if you’d rather, you can 
have a private tutor. And I’ll buy you a pony, and you 
can ride in the Row. You shall have a much better 
time of it than I ever had, as long as you let me go on 
my own way.” 

But these dazzling bribes had no influence upon Mr. 
Bultitude ; nothing short of complete restitution would 
ever satisfy him, and he was too proud and too angry at 
his crushing defeat to even pretend to be in the least 
pacified. 

I don’t want your pony,” he said, bitterly ; ‘‘ I might 
as well have a white elephant, and I don’t suppose I 
should enjoy myself much more at a public school than 
I do here. Let’s have no humbug, sir. You’re up 
and I’m down — there’s no more to be said — I shall tell 
the doctor nothing, but I warn you, if ever the time 
comes — ” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Dick, feeling tolerably secure, 
now he had disposed of the main difficulty. “ If you 
can turn me out, I suppose you will — that’s only fair. I 
shall take care not to give you the chance. And, oh, I 
say, do you want any tin ? How much have you got 
left?” 

Paul turned away his head, lest Dick should see the 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 


247 


sudden exultation he knew it must betray, as he said, 
with an effort to appear unconcerned : “ I came away 
with exactly five shillings, and I haven’t a penny now ! ” 

‘‘I say,” said Dick, ‘‘you are a fellow; you must 
have been going it. How did you get rid of it all in a 
week ? ” 

“ It went, as far as I can understand,” said Mr. Bul- 
titude, “in rabbits and mice. Some boys claimed it as 
money they paid you to get them, I believe.” 

“ All your own fault,” said Dick ; “ you would have 
them drowned. But you’d better have some tin to get 
along with. How much do you want? Will half a 
crown do ? ” 

“ Half a crown is not much, Dick,” said his father, 
almost humbly. 

“It’s — ahem — a handsome allowance for a young 
fellow like you,” said Dick, rather unkindly; “but I 
haven’t any half-crowns left. I must give you this, I 
suppose.” 

And he held out a sovereign, never dreaming what 
it signified to Paul, who clutched it with feelings too 
great for words, though gratitude was not a part of 
them, for was it not his own money ? 

“ And now look out,” said Dick ; “ I hear Grim. Re- 
member what I told you ; keep it up.” 

Dr. Grimstone came in with the air of a man who 
has a painful duty to perform ; he started slightly as 
his eye noted the change in his visitor’s dress and ap- 
pearance. “ I hope,” he began gravely, “ that your son 
has spared me the pain of going into the details of his 
misbehavior ; I wish I could give you a better report 
of him.” 

Dick was plainly, in spite of his altered circum- 


S48 


VICE VERSl. 


stances, by no means at ease in tlie schoolmaster’s pres- 
ence ; he stood, shifting from foot to foot on the hearth- 
rug, turning extremely red and obstinately declining to 
raise his eyes from the ground. 

‘^Oh, ah,” he stammered at last, ‘‘you were just 
going to whack him, weren’t you, when I turned up, 
sir?” 

“I found myself forced,” said the doctor, slightly 
shocked at this coarse way of putting things — “ forced 
to contemplate administering to him (for his ultimate 
benefit) a sharp corrective in the presence of his school- 
fellows. I distress you, I see, but the truth must be 
told. He has no doubt confessed his fault to you ? ” 

“Ho,” said Dick, “he hasn’t, though. What’s he 
been up to now ? ” 

“ I had hoped he would have been more open, more 
straightforward, when confronted with the father who 
has proved himself so often indulgent and anxious for 
his improvement ; it would have been a more favorable 
symptom, I think. Well, I must tell you myself. I 
know too well what a shock it will be to your scrupu- 
lously sensitive moral code, my dear Mr. Bultitude ” 
(Dick showed a painful inclination to giggle here) ; 
“but I have to break to you the melancholy truth that 
I detected this unhappy boy in the act of conducting a 
secret and amorous correspondence with a young lady 
in a sacred edifice ! ” 

Dick whistled sharply. “ Oh, I say ! ” he cried, 
“ that’s bad ” (and he wagged his head reprovingly at 
his disgusted father, who longed to denounce his hy- 
pocrisy, but dared not) ; “ that’s bad ... he shouldn’t 
do that sort of thing, you know, should he ? At his age 
too . . . the young dog ! ” 


AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT. 


249 


“ This horror is what I should have expected from 
you,” said the doctor (though he was in truth more 
than scandalized by the composure with which his an- 
nouncement was received). “ Such boldness is indeed 
characteristic of the dog, an animal which, as you are 
aware, was with the ancients a synonym for shameless- 
ness. No boy, however abandoned, should hear such 
words of unequivocal condemnation from a father’s lips 
without a pang of shame ! ” 

Paul was only just able to control his rage by a 
great effort. 

“You’re right there, sir,” said Dick ; “he ought to 
be well ragged for it . . . he’ll break my heart, if he 
goes on like this, the young beggar. But we mustn’t 
be too hard on him, eh ? After all, it’s nature, you 
know, isn’t it ? ” 

“I beg your pardon?” said Dr. Grimstone, very 
stiffly. 

“ I mean,” explained Dick, with a perilous approach 
to digging the other in the ribs, “we did much the 
same sort of thing in our time, eh ? I’m sure I did — 
lots of times ! ” 

“I can’t reproach myself on that head, Mr. Bulti- 
tude; and permit me to say, that such a tone of treat- 
ing the affair is apt to destroy the effect, the excellent 
moral effect, of your most impressively conveyed in- 
dignation just now. I merely give you a hint, you 
understand ! ” 

“Oh, ah,” said Dick, feeling that he had made 
a mistake ; “ yes, I didn’t mean that. But, I say, 
you haven’t given him a — a whopping yet, have 
you ? ” 

“ I had just stepped out to j^rocure a cane for that 


250 


VICE VERSA. 


purpose,” said tlie doctor, “ when your name was an- 
nounced.” 

“Well, look here, you won’t want to start again 
when I’m gone, will you ? ” 

“An ancient philosopher, my dear sir, was accus- 
tomed to postpone the correction of his slaves until the 
first glow of his indignation had passed away. He 
found then that he could — ” 

“Lay it on with more science,” suggested Dick, 
while Paul writhed where he stood. “ Perhaps so, but 
you might forgive him now, don’t you think ? he won’t 
do it again. If he goes writing any more love-letters, 
tell me, and I’ll come and talk to him; hut he’s had a 
lesson, you know. Let him off this time.” 

“ I have no right to resist such an entreaty,” said 
the doctor, “ though I may he inclined myself to think 
that a few strokes would render the lesson more per- 
manent. I must ask you to reconsider your plea for 
his pardon.” 

Paul heard this with indescrihahle anxiety ; he had 
begun to feel tolerably sure that his evil hour was post- 
poned sine die, hut might not Dick he cruel and selfish 
enough to remain neutral, or even side wdth the enemy, 
in support of his assumed character ? 

Luckily he was not. “ Pd rather let him off,” he 
said, awkwardly ; “ I don’t approve of caning fellows 
myself. It never did me any good, I know, and I got 
enough of it to tell.” 

“Well, well, I yield. Richard, your father has in- 
terceded for you ; and I can not disregard his wishes, 
though I have my own view in the matter. You will 
hear no more of this disgraceful conduct, sir, unless you 
do something to recall it to my memory. Thank your 


AN ERROR OP JUDGMENT. 


251 


father for his kindness, which you so little deserved, and 
take your leave of him.’’ 

“ Oh, there, it’s all right ! ” said Dick ; “ he’ll behave 
himself after this, I know. And oh ! I say, sir,” he 
added hastily, is — is Dulcie anywhere about ? ” 

‘‘My daughter?” asked the doctor. “Would you 
like to see her ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t mind,” said Dick, blushing furiously. 

“ I’m sorry to say she has gone out for a walk with 
her mother,” said the doctor. “ I’m afraid she can not 
be back for some time. It’s unfortunate.” 

Dick’s face fell. “ It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, 
awkwardly. “ She’s all right, I hope ? ” 

“ She is very seldom ailing, I’m happy to say ; just 
now she’s particularly well, thank you.” 

“ Oh, is she ? ” said Dick, gloomily, probably disap- 
pointed to find that he was so little missed, and not 
suspecting that his father had been accepted as a sub- 
stitute. 

“Well, do you mind — could I see the fellows again 
for a minute or two — I mean I should rather like to in- 
spect the school, you know.” 

“See my boys? Certainly, my dear sir, by all 
means ; this way,” and he took Dick out to the school- 
room, Paul following out of curiosity. “You’ll find us 
at our studies, you see,” said the doctor, as he opened 
the first baize door. There was a suspicious hubbub 
and hum of voices from within ; but as they entered 
every boy was bent over his books with the wrapt ab- 
sorption of the devoted student — an absorption that 
was the direct effect of the sound the door-handle made 
in turning. 

“Our workshop,” said the doctor, airily, looking 


252 


VICE VERSA. 


round. ‘‘My first form, Mr. Biiltitude. Some good 
workers here, and some idle ones.” 

Dick stood in the doorway, looking (if the truth 
must be told) uncommonly foolish. He had wanted, in 
coming there, to enjoy the contrast between the past 
and present — which accounts for a good many visits of 
“ old boys ” to the scene of their education. But, con- 
fronted with his former schoolfellows, he was seized at 
first with an utterly unreasonable fear of detection. 

The class behaved as classes usually do on such occa- 
sions. The good boys smirked and the bad ones stared, 
the general expression being one of uneasy curiosity. 
Dick said never a word, feeling strangely bashful and 
nervous. 

“ This is Tipping, my head boy,” touching that 
young gentleman on the shoulder, and making him sev- 
eral degrees more uncomfortable, “I expect solid re- 
sults from Tipping some day.” 

“He looks as if his head was pretty solid,” said 
Dick, who had once cut his knuckles against it. 

“ My second boy, Biddlecomb. If he applies him- 
self, he too will do me credit in the world.” 

“ How do, Biddlecomb ? ” said Dick. “ I owe you 
ninepence — I mean — oh, hang it, here’s a shilling for 
you ! Hallo, Chawner ! ” he went on, gradually over- 
coming his first nervousness, “ how are you getting on, 
eh ? Doing much in the sneaking way lately ? ” 

“ You know him ? ” exclaimed the doctor, with naive 
surprise. 

“ Ho, no ; I don’t know him. I’ve heard of him, you 
know — heard of him ! ” Chawner looked down his nose 
with a feeble attempt at a gratified simper, while his 
neighbors giggled with furtive relish. 


AN EllROR OF JUDGMENT. 


253 


“ Well,” said Dick at last, after a long look at all 
tlie old familiar objects, ‘‘I must be off, you know. 
Got some important business at home this evening to 
look after. The fellows look very jolly and content, 
and all that sort of thing. Enough to make one want 
to be a boy again almost, eh ? Good-by, you chaps — 
ahem, young gentlemen, I wish you good-morning ! ” 
And he went out, leaving behind him the impression 
that ‘‘young Bultitude’s governor wasn’t half such a 
bad old buffer.” 

He paused at the open front door, to which Paul 
and the doctor had accompanied him. “ Good-by,” he 
said ; “ I wish I’d seen Dulcie. I should like to see 
your daughter, sir ; but it can’t be helped. Good-by ; 
and you,” he added in a lower tone to his father, who 
was standing by, inexpressibly pained and disgusted by 
his utter want of dignity, “you mind what I told you. 
Don’t try any games with me ! ” 

And, as he skipped jauntily down the steps to the 
gateway, the doctor followed his unwieldy, oddly 
dressed form with his eyes, and, inclining his head 
gravely to Dick’s sweeping wave of the hand, asked, 
with a compassionate tone in his voice, “You don’t 
happen to know, Richard, my boy, if your father has 
had any business troubles lately — anything to disturb 
him ? ” 

And Mr. Bultitude’s feelings prevented him from 
making any intelligent reply. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE EUBICO^T. 

“ My three schoolfellowe, 

Whom I will trust — as I will adders fanged ; 

They bear the mandate.” 

Paul never quite knew how the remainder of that 
day passed at Crichton House. He was ordered to join 
a class which was more or less engaged with some kind 
of work ; he had a hazy idea that it was Latin, though 
it may have been Greek ; but he was spared the neces- 
sity of taking any active part in the proceedings, as Mr. 
Bhnkhorn was not disposed to be too exacting with a 
boy who in one short morning had endured a sentence 
of expulsion, a lecture, the immediate prospect of a 
flogging, and a paternal visit, and, as before, mercifully 
left him alone. 

His classmates, however, did not show the same 
chivalrous delicacy ; and Paul had to suffer many un- 
mannerly jests and gibes at his expense, frequent and 
anxious inquiries as to the exact nature of his treatment 
in the dining-room, with sundry highly imaginative ver- 
sions of the same, while there was much candid and un- 
biased comment on the appearance and conduct of him- 
self and his son. 

But he bore it unprotesting — or, rather, he scarcely 
noticed it : for all his thoughts were now entirely taken 


THE RUBICON. 


255 


up by one important subject — the time and manner of 
his escape. 

Thanks to Dick’s thoughtless liberality, he had now 
ample funds to carry him safely home. It was hardly 
likely that any more unexpected claims could be brought 
against him now, particularly as he had no intention of 
publishing his return to solvency. He might reasonably 
consider himself in a position to make his escape at the 
very first favorable opportunity. 

When would that opportunity present itself? It 
must come soon. He could not wait long for it. Any 
hour might yet see him pounced upon and flogged heart- 
ily for some utterly unknown and unsuspected transgres- 
sion ; or the golden key which would unlock his prison 
bars might be lost in some unlucky moment ; for his 
long series of reverses had made him loth to trust to 
Fortune, even when she seemed to look smilingly once 
more upon him. 

Fortune’s countenance is apt to be so alarmingly 
mobile with some unfortunates. 

But in spite of the new facilities given him for escape, 
and his strong motives for taking advantage of them, he 
soon found, to his utter dismay, that he shrank from 
committing himself to so daring and dangerous a course, 
just as much as when he had tried to make a confidant 
of the doctor. 

For, after all, could he be sure of himself? Would 
his ill-luck suffer him to seize the one propitious mo- 
ment, or would that fatal self-distrust and doubt that 
had paralyzed him for the past week seize him again 
just at the crisis ? 

Suppose he did venture to take the first irrevocable 
step, could he rely on himself to go through the rest 


256 


VICE VERSl. 


of his hazardous enterprise? Was he cool and wary- 
enough? He dared not expect an uninterrupted run. 
Had he ruses and expedients at command on any sud- 
den check? 

If he could not answer all these doubts favorably, 
was it not sheer madness to take to flight at all ? 

He felt a dismal conviction that his success would 
have to depend, not on his own cunning, but on the 
forbearance or blindness of others. The slightest con- 
tretemps must infallibly upset him altogether. 

The fact was, he had all his life been engaged in the 
less eventful and contentious branches of commerce. 
His will had seldom had to come in contact with others, 
and when it did so he had found means, being of a 
prudent and cautious temperament, of avoiding disa- 
greeable personal consequences by timely compromises 
or judicious employment of delegates. He had gen- 
erally found his fellow-men ready to meet him reason- 
ably as an equal or a superior. 

But now he must be prepared to see in every one he 
met a possible enemy, who would hand him over to the 
tyrant on the faintest suspicion. They were spies to be 
bafiled or disarmed, pursuers to be eluded. The small- 
est slip in his account of himself would be enough to 
undo him. 

Ho wonder that, as he thought over all this, his 
heart quailed within him. 

They say— -the paradox - mongers say — that it re- 
quires a far higher degree of moral courage for a sol- 
dier in action to leave the ranks under Are and seek a 
less distinguished position toward the rear, than would 
carry him on with the rest to charge a battery. 

This may be true, though it might not prove a very 


THE RUBICON. 


257 


valuable defense at a court-martial ; but, at all events, 
Mr. Bultitude found, when it came to the point, that it 
was almost impossible for him to screw up his courage 
to run away. 

It is not a pleasant state, this indecision whether to 
stay passively and risk the worst or avoid it by flight ; 
and the worst of it is that, whatever course is eventually 
forced upon us, it finds us equally unprepared, and more 
liable from such indecision to bungle miserably in the 
sequel. 

Paul might never have gained heart to venture, but 
for an unpleasant incident that took place during din- 
ner, and a discovery he made after it. 

They happened to have a particularly unpopular 
pudding that day ; a pallid preparation of suet, with an 
infrequent currant or two embalmed in it, and Paul 
v/as staring at his portion of this delicacy disconsolately 
enough, wondering how he should contrive to consume 
and, worse still, digest it, when his attention was caught 
by Jolland, who sat directly opposite him. 

That young gentleman, who evidently shared the 
general dislike to the currant pudding, was inviting 
Mr. Bultitude’s attention to a little contrivance of his 
own for getting rid of it, which consisted in delicate- 
ly shoveling the greater part of what was on his plate 
into a large envelope held below the table to receive 
it. 

This struck Paul as a heaven-sent method of avoid- 
ing the difficulty, and he had just got the envelope 
which had held Barbara’s letter out of his pocket, in- 
tending to follow Jolland’s example, when the doctor’s 
voice made him start guiltily and replace the envelope 
in his pocket. 


258 


VICE VEESl. 


‘‘Jolland,” said the doctor, “what have you got 
there ? ” 

“ An envelope, sir,” explained J olland, who had now 
got the remains of his pudding safely bestowed. 

“ What is in that envelope ? ” said the doctor, who 
happened to have been watching him. 

“ In the envelope, sir ? Pudding, sir,” said Jolland, 
as if it were the most natural thing in the world to 
send bulky portions of pudding by post. 

“ And why did you place pudding in the envelope ? ” 
inquired the doctor, in his deepest tone. 

Jolland felt a difficulty in explaining that he had 
done so because he wished to avoid eating it, and with 
a view to interring it later on in the playground ; he 
preferred silence. 

“ Shall I tell you why you did it, sir ? ” thundered 
the doctor. “ You did it because you were scheming 
to obtain a second portion — ^because you did not feel 
yourself able to eat both portions at your leisure here, 
and thought to put by a part to devour in secret at a 
future time. It’s a most painful exhibition of pure 
piggishness. There shall be no pocketing at this table, 
sir. You will eat that pudding under my eye at once, 
and you will stay in and write out French verbs for 
two days. That will put an end to any more guzzling 
in the garden for a time, at least. 

Jolland seemed stupefied, though relieved, by the 
unexpected construction put upon his conduct, as he 
gulped down the intercepted fragments of pudding, 
while the rest diligently cleared their plates with as 
much show of appreciation as they could muster. 

Mr. Bultitude shuddered at this one more narrow 
escape. If he had been detected — as he must have 


THE RUBICON. 


259 


been in another instant — in smuggling pudding in an 
envelope, he might have incautiously betrayed his real 
motives, and then, as the doctor was morbidly sensitive 
as to all complaints of the fare he provided, he would 
have got into worse trouble than the unfortunate Jol- 
land, to say nothing of the humiliation of being detected 
in such an act. 

It was a solemn warning to him of the dangers he 
was exposed to hourly, while he lingered within those 
walls ; but his position was still more strongly brought 
home to him by the terrible discovery he made shortly 
afterward. 

He was alone in the schoolroom, for the others had 
all gone down into the playground, except Jolland, 
who was confined in one of the class-rooms below, when 
the thought came over him to test the truth of Dick’s 
hint about a name cut on the doctor’s writing-table. 

He stole up to it guiltily, and, lifting the slanting 
desk which stood there, examined the surface below. 
Dick had been perfectly correct. There it was, glar- 
ingly fresh and distinct, not large, but very deeply cut 
and fearfully legible, “R. Bultitude.” It might have 
been done that day. Dick had probably performed it 
out of bravado, or under the impression that he was 
not going to return after the holidays. 

Paul dropped the desk over the fatal letters with a 
shudder. The slightest accidental shifting of it must 
disclose them — ^nothing but a miracle could have kept 
them concealed so long. When they did come to light, 
he knew, from what he had seen of the doctor, that the 
act would be considered as an outrage of the blackest 
and most desperate kind. He would most unquestion- 
ably get a flogging for it ! 


260 


VICE YERSl. 


He fetched a large pewter ink-pot, and tried ner- 
vously to blacken the letters with the tip of a quill, to 
make them, if possible, rather less obtrusive than they 
were. All in vain ; they only stood out with more 
startling vividness when picked out in black upon the 
brown-stained deal. He felt very like a conscience- 
stricken murderer trying to hide a corpse that wouldn’t 
be buried. He gave it up at last, having only made a 
terrible mess with the ink. 

That settled it. He must fly. The flogging must 
be avoided at all hazards. If an opportunity delayed 
its coming, why, he must do without the opportunity — 
he must make one. For good or ill, his mind was made 
up now for immediate flight. 

All that afternoon, while he sat trying to keep his 
mind upon long sums in Bills of Parcels, which dis- 
gusted him as a business man, by the glaring improb- 
ability of their details, his eye wandered furtively down 
the long tables to where the doctor sat at the head of 
the class. Every chance movement of the principal’s 
elbow filled him with a sickening dread. A hundred 
times those rudely carved letters seem about to start 
forth and denounce him. 

It was a disquieting afternoon for Paul. 

But the time dragged wearily on, and still the desk 
loyally kept its secret. The dusk drew on and the gas- 
burners were lit. The younger boys came up from the 
lower class-room and were sent out to play ; the doctor 
shortly afterward dismissed his own class to follow 
them, and Paul and his companions had the room to 
themselves. 

He sat there on the rough form with his slate before 
him, hearing, half unconsciously, the shouts, laughter, 


THE RUBICON. 


261 


and ring of feet coming up from the darkness outside, 
and the faint notes of a piano, which filtered through 
the double doors from one of the rooms, where a boy 
was practicing Haydn’s “Surprise,” from Hamilton’s 
exercise book — a surprise which he rendered as a mildly 
inter jectional form of astonishment. 

All the time Paul was racked with an intense burn- 
ing desire to get up and run for it then, before it became 
too late ; but cold fits of doubt and fear preserved him 
from such lunacy ; he would wait, his chance might 
come before long. 

His patience was rewarded ; the doctor came in, 
looking at his watch, and said: “ I think these boys have 
had enough of it, Mr. Tinkler, eh? You can send 
them out now till tea-time.” 

Mr. Tinkler, who had been entangling himself fright- 
fully in intricate calculations upon the blackboard, 
without making a single convert, was only too glad to 
tade advantage of the suggestion, and Paul followed 
the rest into the playground with a sense of relief. 

The usual “ chevy ” was going on there, with more 
spirit than usual, perhaps, because the darkness allowed 
of practical jokes and surprises, and offered great facili- 
ties for paying off old grudges with secrecy and dis- 
patch, and as the doctor had come to the door of the 
greenhouse, and was looking on, the players exerted 
themselves still more, till the prison to which most of 
one side had been consigned by being run down and 
touched by their fieeter enemies was filled with a long 
line of captives holding hands and calling out to be 
released. 

Paul, who had run out vaguely from his base, was 
promptly pursued and made prisoner by an unneces- 


262 


VICE VERSl. 


sarily vigorous thump in the back, after which he took 
his place at the bottom of the line of imprisoned ones. 

But the enemy’s spirit began to slacken ; one after 
another of the players still left to the opposite side suc- 
ceeded in outrunning pursuit and touching the fore- 
most prisoner for the time being, so as to set him free 
by the rules of the game. The doctor went in again, 
and the enemy relapsed as usual into total indifference, 
so that Paul, without exactly knowing how,,*soon found 
himself the only one left in goal, unnoticed and appar- 
ently forgotten. 

He could not see anything through the darkness, but 
he heard the voices of the boys disputing at the other 
side of the playground ; he looked round ; at his right 
was the indistinct form of a large laurel bush, behind 
that he knew was the playground gate. Could it be 
that his chance had come at last ? 

He slipped behind the laurel and waited, holding his 
breath ; the dispute still went on ; no one seemed to 
have noticed him, probably the darkness prevented all 
chance of that ; he went on tip-toe to the gate — it was 
not locked. 

He opened it very carefully a little way ; it was for- 
bearing enough not to creak, and the next moment he 
was outside, free to go where he would ! 

Escape, after all, was simple enough when he came 
to try it ; he could hardly believe at first that he really 
was free at last ; free with money enough in his pocket 
to take him home, with the friendly darkness to cover 
his retreat ; free to go back and confront Dick on his 
own ground, and, by force or fraud, get the Garuda 
Stone into his own hands once more. 

As yet he never doubted that it would be easy 


THE RUBICON. 


263 


enough to convince his household, if necessary, of the 
truth of his story, and enlist them one and all on his 
side ; all that he required, he thought, was caution : he 
must reach the house unobserved, and wait and watch, 
and the deuce would be in it if the stone were not safe 
in his pocket again before twelve hours had gone by. 

All this time he was still within a hundred yards or 
so of the playground-wall ; he must decide upon some 
particular route, some definite method of ordering his 
flight ; to stay where he was any longer would clearly 
be unwise, yet, where should he go first ? 

If he went to the station at once, how could he tell 
that he should be lucky enough to catch a train without 
having to wait long for it, and unless he did that, he 
would almost certainly be sought for first on the sta- 
tion platform, and might be caught before a train was 
due. 

At last, with an astuteness he had not suspected 
himself of possessing, which was probably the result of 
the harrowing experiences he had lately undergone, he 
hit upon a plan of action. “I’ll go to a shop,” he 
thought, “ and change this sovereign, and ask to look 
at a time-table — then, if I find I can catch a train at 
once. I’ll run for it ; if one is not due for some time, I 
can hang about near the station till it comes in.” 

With this intention he walked on toward the town 
till he came to a small terrace of shops, when he went 
into the first, which was a stationer’s and toy-dealer’s, 
with a stock in trade of cheap wooden toys and incom- 
prehensible games, drawing slates, penny packets of sta- 
tionery, and cards of pen and pencil-holders, and a par- 
ticularly stuffy atmosphere ; the proprietor, a short man 
with a fat white face with a rich glaze all over it, and a 


264 


VICE VERSA. 


fringe of ragged brown whisker meeting under his 
chin, was sitting behind the counter posting up his 
ledger. 

Paul looked round the shop in search of something 
to purchase, and at last said, more nervously than he 
expected to do, “ I want a pencil-case — one which screws 
up and down.” He thought a pencil-case would be an 
innocent, unsuspicious thing to ask for. The man set 
rows of cards containing pencil-cases of every imaginable 
shape on the counter before him, and, when Mr. Bulti- 
tude had chosen one, the stationer asked if there would 
be anything else, and if he might send it for him. 
“ You’re one of Dr. Grimstone’s young gentlemen up at 
Crichton House, aren’t you, sir ? ” he added. 

A guilty dread of discovery made Paul anxious to 
deny this at once. ^^Ho,” he said ; ‘‘Oh, no ; no con- 
nection with the place. Ah, could you allow me to 
look at a time-table ? ” 

“ Certainly, sir ; expectin’ some one to-night, or to- 
morrow p’raps. Let me see,” he said, consulting a table 
which hung behind him. “ There’s a train from Pancras 
comes in in half an hour from now, 6.05 that is ; there’s 
another doo at 8.15, and one at 9.30. Then from Liver- 
pool Street they run — ” 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Bultitude, “ but — ^but I want 
the up-trains.” 

“Ah,” said the man, with a rather peculiar intona- 
tion, “I thought maybe your par or your mar was 
cornin’ down. Ain’t Dr. Grimstone got the times the 
trains go ? ” 

“Yes,” said Paul, desperately, without very well 
knowing what he said, “ yes, he has, but, ah, not for this 
month ; he — ^he sent me to inquire.” 


THE RUBICON. 


265 


“ Did he though ? ” said the stationer. “ I thought 
you wasn’t one of his young gentlemen ? ” 

Mr. Bultitude saw what a fearful trap he had fallen 
into, and stood speechless. 

‘‘ Go along with you ! ” said the little stationer at 
last, with a not unkindly grin. “ Lor’ bless you, I knew 
your face the minnit you come in. To go and tell me 
a brazen story like that ! You’re a young pickle, you 
are ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude began to shuffle feebly toward the 
door. “ Pickle, eh ? ” he protested, in great discompo- 
sure. “NTo, no. Heaven knows I’m no pickle. It’s of 
no consequence about those trains. Don’t trouble. 
Good-evening to you. ” 

“ Stop,” said the man ; don’t be in such a hurry 
now. You tell me what you want to know straightfor- 
ward, and I don’t mean to say as I won’t help you so 
far as I can. Don’t be afraid of my telling no tales. 
I’ve bin a schoolboy myself in my time, bless your 
’art. I shouldn’t wonder now if I couldn’t make a 
pretty good guess without telling at what you’re after. 
You’ve bin a catchin’ of it hot, and you want to make a 
clean bolt of it. I ain’t very far off, now, am I ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul ; for something in the man’s man- 
ner inspired confidence. “ I do want to make a bolt of 
it. I’ve been most abominably treated.” 

“Well, look here, I ain’t got no right to interfere ; 
and, if you’re caught, I look to you not to bring my 
name in. I don’t want to get into trouble up at Crich- 
ton House and lose good customers, you see. But I like 
the looks of you, and you’ve always dealt ’ere pretty 
regular. I don’t mind if I give you a lift. Just see 
here. You want to get off to London, don’t you? 

12 


266 


VICE VERSA. 


What for is your business, not mine. Well, there’s a 
train, express, stops at only one station on the way, in 
at 5.50. It’s twenty minnits to six now. If you take 
that road just oppersite, it’ll bring you out at the end 
of the Station Road ; you can do it easy in ten minnits 
and have time to spare. So cut away, and good luck 
to you ! ” 

“ I’m vastly obliged to you,” said Paul, and he meant 
it. It was a new experience to find any one offering 
him assistance. He left the close little shop, crossed 
the road, and started off in the direction indicated to 
him at a brisk trot. 

His steps rang out cheerfully on the path iron-bound 
with frost. He was almost happy again under the ex- 
hilarating glow of unusual exercise and the excitement 
of escape and regained freedom. 

He ran on, past a series of villa residences inclosed 
in varnished palings and adorned with that mediaeval 
abundance of turrets, balconies, and cheap stained-glass, 
which is accepted nowadays as a guarantee of the ten- 
ant’s culture, and a satisfactory substitute for effective 
drainage. After the villas came a church, and a few 
yards farther on the road turned with a sharp curve 
into the main thoroughfare leading to the station. 

He was so near it that he could hear the shrill en- 
gine whistles, and the banging of trucks on the railway 
sidings echoed sharply from the neighboring houses. 
He was saved, in sight of haven at last ! 

Full of delight at the thought, he put on a still 
greater pace, and, turning the corner without looking, 
ran into a little party of three, which was coming in the 
opposite direction. 

Fate’s vein of irony was by no means worked out 


THE RUBICON. 


267 


yet. As he was recovering from the collision, and pre- 
paring to offer or accept an apology, as the case might 
be, he discovered to his horror that he had fallen among 
no strangers. 

The three were his old acquaintances, Coker, Coggs, 
and the virtuous Chawner — of whom he had fondly 
hoped to have seen the last for ever ! 

The moral and physical shock of such an encounter 
took all Mr. Bultitude’s remaining breath away. He 
stood panting under the sickly rays of a street-lamp, the 
very incarnation of helpless, hopeless dismay. 

“ Hallo ! ” said Coker, “ it’s young Bultitude ! ” 

“ What do you mean by cannoning into a fellow like 
this ? ” said Coggs. “ What are you up to out here, eh ? ” 

“If it comes to that,” said Paul, casting about for 
some explanation of his appearance, “ what are you up 
to here ? ” 

“Why,” said Chawner, “if you want to know, 
Dick, we’ve been to fetch the ‘St. James’s Gazette’ for 
the doctor. He said I might go if I liked, and I asked 
for Coker and Coggs to come too, because there was 
something I wanted to tell them, very important, and I 
have told them, haven’t I, Corny ? ” 

Coggs growled sulkily ; Coker gave a tragic groan, 
and said : “ I don’t care when you tell, Chawner. Do 
it to-night, if you like. Let’s talk about something else. 
Bultitude hasn’t told us yet how he came out here after 
us?” 

His last words suggested a pretext to Paul, of which 
he hastened to make use. “ Oh,” he said, “ I ? I came 
out here, after you, to say that Dr. Grimstone will not 
require the ‘ St. James’s Gazette.’ He wants the ‘ Globe ’ 
and, ah, the ‘ Echo,’ instead.” 


268 


VICE VERSl. 


It did not sound a very probable combination ; but 
Paul used the first names that occurred to him, and, as 
it happened, aroused no suspicions, for the boys read no 
newspapers. 

“Well, we’ve got the other now,” said Coker. 
“ We 'shall have to go back and get the fellow at the 
bookstall to change it, I suppose. Come on, you fel- 
lows ! ” 

This was at least a move in the right direction ; for 
the three began at once to retrace their steps. But, un- 
fortunately, all these explanations had taken time, and, 
before they had gone many yards, Mr. Bultitude was 
horrified to hear the station bell ring loudly, and imme- 
diately after a cloud of white steam rose above the sta- 
tion roof as the London train clanked cumbrously in, 
and was brought to with a prolonged screeching of 
brakes. 

The others were walking very slowly. At the pres- 
ent pace it would be almost impossible to reach the 
train in time. He looked round at them anxiously. 
“ H-hadn’t we better run, don’t you think ? ” he asked. 

“ Run ! ” said Coker, scornfully. “ What for ? I’m 
not going to run. You can, if you like.” 

“ Why, ah, really,” said Paul, briskly, very grateful 
for the permission ; “ do you know, I think I will ! ” 

And run he did, with all his might, rushing head- 
long through the gates, threading his way between the 
omnibuses and under the Roman noses of the mild fly- 
horses in the inclosure, until at length he found himself 
inside the little booking-office. 

He was not too late ; the train was still at the plat- 
form, the engine getting up steam with a dull roar. 
But he dared not risk detection by traveling without a 


THE RUBICON. 


269 


ticket. There was time for that, too. No one was at 
the pigeon-hole hut one old lady. 

But, unhappily, the old lady considered taking a 
ticket as a solemn rite to be performed with all due 
caution and deliberation. She had already catechised 
the clerk upon the number of stoppages during her pro- 
posed journey, and exacted earnest assurances from him 
that she would not be called upon to change anywhere 
in the course of it ; and as Paul came up she was lay- 
ing out the purchase-money for her ticket upon the 
ledge and counting it, which, the fare being high and the 
coins mostly halfpence, seemed likely to take some time. 

“One moment, ma’am, if you please,” cried Mr. 
Bultitude, panting and desperate. “I’m pressed for 
time.” 

“ Now you’ve gone and put me out, little boy,” said 
the old lady, fussily. “ I shall have to begin all over 
again. Young man, will you take and count the other 
end and see if it adds up right ? There’s a halfpenny 
wrong somewhere ; I know there is.” 

“Now, then,” shouted the guard from the platform. 
“ Any more going on ? ” 

“ I’m going on ! ” said Paul. “ AYait for me. First 
single to St. Pancras, quick ! ” 

“ Drat the boy ! ” said the old lady, angrily. “ Do 
you think the world’s to give way for you ! Such im- 
pidence ! Mind your manners, little boy, can’t you ? 
You’ve made me drop a threepenny-bit with your 
scrouging ! ” 

“ First single, five shillings,” said the clerk, jerking 
out the precious ticket. 

“ Right ! ” cried the guard at the same instant. 
“ Stand back there, will you ? ” 


270 


VICE versa. 


Paul dashed toward the door of the booking-office 
which led to the platform ; but just as he reached it a 
gate slammed in his face with a sharp click. Through 
the bars of it he saw, with hot eyes, the tall, heavy car- 
riages which had shelter and safety in them jolt heavily 
past, till even the red lamp in the last van was quenched 
in the darkness. 

That miserable old woman had shattered his hopes 
at the very moment of their fulfillment. It was fate 
again ! 

As he stood, fiercely gripping the bars of the gate, 
he heard Coggs’s hateful voice again. 

“ Hallo ! so you haven’t got the ‘ Globe ’ and the 
other thing after all, then ; they’ve shut you out ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Mr. Bultitude, in a hollow voice 5 ‘‘ they’ve 
shut me out ! ” 


CHAPTER XYI. 


HAKD PRESSED. 

“ Mark tlie poor ■wretch, to overshoot his troubles 
How he outruns the "wind, and with what care 
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles : 

The many musets through the which he goes 
Arc like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.’’ 

As soon as tlie gate was opened Paul went through 
mechanically with the others on to the platform, and 
waited at the bookstall while they changed the paper. 
He knew well enough that what had seemed at the time 
a stroke of transcendental cunning would now only 
land him in fresh difficulties, if, indeed, it did not lead 
to the detection of his scheme. But he dared not inter- 
fere and prevent them from making the unlucky ex- 
change. Something seemed to tie his tongue, and in 
sullen, leaden apathy he resigned himself to whatever 
might be in store for him. 

They passed out again by the booking-office. There 
was the old lady still at the pigeon-hole, trying to per- 
suade the much-enduring clerk to restore a lucky six- 
pence she had given him by mistake, and was quite un- 
able to describe. Mr. Bultitude would have given much 
just then to go up and shake her into hysterics, or curse 
her bitterly for the mischief she had done ; but he re- 


272 


VICE YERSl. 


framed, either from an innate chivalry, or from a feel- 
ing that such an outburst would be ill-judged. 

So, silent and miserable, with slow step and hang- 
ing head, he set out with his jailers to render himself 
up once more at his house of bondage — a sort of invol- 
untary Regulus, without the oath. 

“ Dickie, you were very anxious to run just now,” 
observed Chawner, after they had gone some distance 
on their homeward way. 

‘‘We were late for tea — late for tea,” explained Paul, 
hastily. 

“ If you think the tea worth racing like that for, I 
don’t,” said Coggs, viciously ; “ it’s muck.” 

“You don’t catch me racing, except for something 
worth having,” said Coker. 

One more flash of distinct inspiration came to Paul’s 
aid in the very depths of his gloom. It was, in fact, a 
hazy recollection from English history of the ruse by 
which Edward I, when a prince, contrived to escape 
from his captors at Dover Castle. 

“ Why — why,” he said, excitedly, “ would you race 
if you had something worth racing for, hey ? would 
you now ? ” 

“ Try us ! ” said Coker, emphatically. 

“ What do you call ‘ something ’ ? ” inquired Chaw- 
ner, suspiciously. 

“Well,” said Mr. Bultitude, “what do you say to 
a shilling ? ” 

“You haven’t got a shilling,” objected Coggs. 

“Here’s a shilling, see,” said Paul, producing one. 
“Now, then. I’ll give this to any boy I see get into tea 
first ! ” 

“ Bultitude thinks he can run,” said Coker, with an 


HARD PRESSED. 


273 


amiable unbelief in any disinterestedness. “ He means 
to get in first and keep the shilling himself, I know. ” 

“I’ll back myself to run him any day,” put in 
Coggs. 

“So will I,” added Chawner. 

“Well, is it agreed ? ” Paul asked, anxiously. “ Will 
you try ? ” 

“ All right,” said Chawner. “You must give us a 
start to the next lamp-post, though. You stay here, 
and when we’re ready we’ll say ‘ off ’ ! ” 

They drew a line on the path with their feet to mark 
Paul’s starting-point, and went on to the next lamp. 
After a moment or two of anxious waiting he heard 
Coggs shout, all in one breath, “ One-two-three-off ! ” 
and the sound of scampering feet followed immediately. 

It was a most exciting and hotly contested race. 
Paul saw them for one brief moment in the lamplight. 
He saw Chawner scudding down the path like some 
great camel, and Coker squaring his arms and working 
them as if they were wings. Coggs seemed to be last. 

He ran a little way himself just to encourage them, 
but, as the sound of their feet grew fainter and fainter, 
he felt that his last desperate ruse had taken effect, and, 
with a chuckle at his own cleverness, turned round and 
ran his fastest in the opposite direction. He felt little 
or no interest in the result of the race. 

Once more he entered the booking-office, and, kneel- 
ing on a chair, consulted the time-board that hung on 
the wall over the sheaf of texts and the missionary box. 

The next train was not until 7. 25. A whole hour 
and twenty-five minutes to wait ! What was he to do ? 
Where was he to pass the weary time till then ? If he 
lingered on the platform he would assuredly be recap- 


2T4 


VICE VERSA. 


tured. His absence could not remain long undiscov- 
ered ; and the station would be the first place tbey 
would search for him. 

And yet he dared not wander away from the neigh- 
borhood of the station. If he kept to the shops and 
lighted thoroughfares he might be recognized or traced. 
If, on the other hand, he went out farther into the 
country (which was utterly unknown to him) he 
had no watch, and it would be only too easy to lose 
his way, or miscalculate time and distance in the dark- 
ness. 

To miss the next train would be absolutely fatal. 

He walked out upon the platform, and on past the 
refreshment and waiting-rooms, past the weighing 
machine, the stacked trucks and the lamp-room, meet- 
ing and seen by none ; even the boy at the bookstall 
was busy with bread and butter and a mug of tea in a 
dark corner, and never noticed him. 

He went on to the end of the platform, where the 
planks sloped gently down to a wilderness of sheds, 
coaling stages, and sidings ; he could just make out the 
bulky forms of some tarpaulined cattle- vans and open 
coal-trucks standing on the lines of metals which 
gleamed in the scanty gaslights. 

It struck him that one of these vans or trucks would 
serve his purpose admirably, if he could only get into 
it, and very cautiously he picked his way over the clog- 
ging ballast and rails, till he came to a low, narrow strip 
of platform between two sidings. 

He mounted it, and went on till he came to the line 
of trucks and vans drawn up alongside ; the vans seemed 
all locked, but at the end he found an empty coal- wagon 
in which he thought he could manage to conceal himself 


HAED PEESSED. 275 

and escape pursuit till the longed-for 7.25 train should 
arrive to relieve him. 

He stepped in and laid down in one corner of it, 
listening anxiously for any sound of search, but, hearing 
nothing more than the dismal dirge of the telegraph- 
wires overhead, he soon grew cold and stiff, for his en- 
forced attitude was far from comfortable, and there was 
more coal-dust in his chosen retreat than he could have 
wished. Still it was secluded enough ; it was not likely 
that it would occur to any one to look for him there. 
Ten days ago Mr. Paul Bultitude would have found it 
hard to conceive himself lying down in a hard and 
grimy coal-truck to escape his son’s schoolmaster, but 
since then he had gone through too much that was un- 
precedented and abnormal to see much incongruity in 
his situation ; it was all too hideously real to be a night- 
mare. 

But even here he was not allowed to remain undis- 
turbed ; after about half an hour, when he was begin- 
ning to feel almost secure, there came a sharp twanging 
of wires beneath, and two short strokes of a bell in the 
signal-box hard by. 

He heard some one from the platform, probably the 
station-master, shout : ‘‘Look alive, there, Ing, Pick- 
stones, some of you. There’s those three trucks on the 
A siding to go on to Slopsbury by the 6.30 luggage ; 
she’ll be in in another five minutes.” 

There were steps as if some persons were coming out 
of a cabin opposite ; they came nearer and nearer. 
“These three, ain’t it. Tommy?” said a gruff voice 
close to Paul’s ear. 

“ That’s it, mate,” said another, evidently Tommy’s ; 
“ get ’em along up to the points there. Can’t have the 


276 


VICE VERSA. 


6.30 standing about on this ’ere line all nigbt ’cos of 
the Limited. Now, then, all together, shove ! they’ve 
got the old ’orse on at the other end.” 

And, to Paul’s alarm, he felt the truck in which ho 
was begin to move ponderously on the greasy metals, 
and strike the next with its buffers with a jarring shock 
and a jangling of coupling chains. 

He could not stand this ; unless he revealed himself 
at once, or managed to get out of this delusive wagon, 
the six-whatever-it-was train would be up and carry him 
off to Slopsbury, a hundred miles or so farther from 
home ; they would have time to warn Dick — he would 
be expected — ambushes lain for him, and his one chance 
would be gone for ever ! 

There was a whistle far away on the down line, and 
that humming vibration which announces an approach- 
ing train : not a moment to lose — he was afraid to at- 
tempt a leap from the moving wagons, and resolved to 
risk all and show himself. 

With this intention he got upon his knees, and, put- 
ting his head above the dirty bulwark, looked over and 
said, softly : “ Tommy, I say. Tommy ! ” 

A porter, who had been laboriously employed below, 
looked up with a white and scared face, and staggered 
back several feet. Mr. Bultitude, in a sudden panic, 
ducked again. 

‘‘ Bill ! ” Paul heard the porter say, hoarsely, “ I’ll 
take my bible oath I’ve never touched a drop this week, 
not to speak of — but I’ve got ’em again, Bill, I’ve got 
’em again ! ” 

“ Got what agin ? ” growled Bill. ‘‘ What’s the mat- 
ter now ? ” 

“It’s the jumps. Bill,” gasped the other, “the ’errors 


HARD PRESSED. 


277 


— they’ve got me, and no mistake. As I’m a livin’ man, 
as I was a shovin’ of that there truck I saw a imp — a 
gashly imp. Bill, stick its hugly ’ed over the side and 
say, ‘ Tommy,’ it ses, jest like that — it ses, ‘ Tommy, I 
wants you ! ’ I dursn’t go near it. Bill. I’ll get leave, 
and go ’ome and lay up — it glared at me so ’orrid. Bill, 
and grinned — ugh ! I’ll take the pledge after this ’ere, 
I will — I’ll go to chapel Sundays reg’lar ! ” 

“ Let’s see if there ain’t something there first,” said 
the practical Bill. “ Easy with the oss up there. Now 
then,” here he stepped on the box of the wheel and 
looked in. Shin out of this, whatever y’are, we don’t 
contrack to carry no imps on this line — Well, if ever I 
— Tommy, old man, it’s all right, y’ain’t got ’em this 
time — ’ere’s yer imp ! ” 

And, reaching over, he hauled out the wretched Paul 
by the scruff of his neck in a state of utter collapse, and 
deposited him on the ground before him. 

“That ain’t your private kerridge, yer know, that 
ain’t ; there wasn’t no bed made up there for you, that 
I know on. You ain’t arter no good, now ; you’re a 
wagahone ! that’s about your size, I can see ; what 
d’yer mean by it, eh ? ” 

“Shet yer ’ed. Bill, will yer,” said Tommy, whose 
relief probably softened his temper ; “ this here’s a young 
gent.” 

“ Young gent, or no young gent,” replied Bill, sen- 
tentiously, “ he’s no call to go ’idin’ in our waggins and 
givin’ ’ard-workin’ men a turn. Old ’im tight. Tommy 
— here’s the luggage down on us.” 

Tommy held him fast with a grip of iron, while the 
other porters coupled the trucks, and the luggage train 
lumbered away with its load. 


278 


VICE VERSl. 


After this the men slouched up and stood round 
their captive, staring at him curiously. 

‘‘ Look here, my men,” said Paul, “ I’ve run away 
from school ; I want to go on to town by the next train, 
and I took the liberty of hiding in the truck, because 
the schoolmaster will be up here very soon to look for 
me — you understand ? ” 

“ I understand,” said Bill, “ and a nice young party 
you are.” 

‘‘ I — I don’t want to be caught,” said Paul. 

“ ISTaterally,” assented Tommy, sympathetically. 

‘‘ Well, can’t you hide me somewhere where he won’t 
see me ? Come, you can do that ? ” 

“ What do you say. Bill ? ” asked Tommy. 

“ What’ll the guv’nor say ? ” said Bill, dubiously. 

« I’ve got a little money,” urged Paul. “ I’ll make 
it worth your while.” 

‘‘ Why didn’t you say that afore ? ” said Bill ; ‘Hhe 
guv’nor needn’t know.” 

“ Here’s half a sovereign between you,” said Paul, 
holding it out. 

“ That’s something like a imp,” said Tommy, warm- 
ly ; ‘‘ if all the bogeys acted as ’andsome as this ’ere, I 
don’t care how often they shows theirselves. We’ll 
have a supper on this, mates, and drink young Delirium 
Trimminses’ jolly good ’ealth. You come along o’ me, 
young shaver; I’ll stow you away right enough, and let 
you out when your train comes in.” 

He led Paul on to the platform again and opened a 
sort of cupboard or closet. “ That’s where we keeps 
the brooms and lamp-rags, and them,” he said ; “ it ain’t 
what you may call tidy, but if I lock you in no one 
won’t trouble you.” 


HARD PRESSED. 


279 


It was perfectly dark, and the rags smelt unpleas- 
antly, but Mr. Bultitude was very glad of this second 
ark of refuge, even though he did bruise his legs over 
the broom-handles ; he was gladder still by and by, 
when he heard a rapid, heavy footfall outside, and a 
voice he knew only too well, saying: ‘‘ I want to see the 
station-master. Ha, there he is. Good-evening, station- 
master, you know me — Dr. Grimstone, of Crichton 
House. I want you to assist me in a very unpleasant 
affair — the fact is, one of my pupils has had the folly 
and wickedness to run away.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” said the station-master. 

‘^It’s only too true, I’m sorry to say ; he seemed 
happy and contented enough, too ; it’s a black, ungrate- 
ful business. But I must catch him, you know ; he 
must be about here somewhere, I feel sure. You don’t 
happen to have noticed a boy who looked as if he 
belonged to me ? They can’t tell me at the booking- 
office.” 

How glad Paul was now he had made no inquiries 
of the station-master. 

“Ho,” said the latter, “I can’t say I have, sir, but 
some of my men may have come across him. I’ll in- 
quire — here, Ing, I want you ; this gentleman has lost 
one of his boys ; have you seen him ?” 

“ What sort of a young gentleman was he to look 
at ? ” Paul heard Tommy’s voice ask. 

“ A bright, intelligent-looking boy,” said the doctor ; 
“medium height, about thirteen, with auburn hair.” 

“Ho, I ain’t seen no intelligent boys with median 
’eight,” said Tommy, slowly, “ not, leastways, to speak 
to positive. What might he ’ave on, now, besides his 
’oburn ’air ? ” 


280 


VICE VERSl. 


“ Black clotk jacket, with a wide collar,” was the 
answer ; “ gray trousers, and a cloth cap with a leather 
peak.” 

“ Oh,” said Tommy, ‘‘ then I see ’im.” 

“ When — where ? ” 

‘‘ ’Bout arf an ’our since.” 

“ Do you know where he is now ? ” 

Well,” said Tommy, to Paul’s intense horror, for 
he was listening, quaking, to every word of this con- 
versation, which was held just outside his cupboard 
door. “ I dessay I could give a guess if I give my mind 
to it.” 

Out with it, Ing, now, if you know ; no tricks,” 
said the station-master, who had apparently just turned 
to go away. ‘‘ Excuse me, sir, but I’ve some things in 
there to see after.” 

When he had gone, the doctor said, rather heatedly : 
‘‘ Come, you’re keeping something from me ; I will have 
it out of you. If I find you have deceived me. I’ll 
write to the manager and get you sent about your busi- 
ness ; you’d better tell me the truth.” 

‘‘You see,” said Tommy, very slowly and reluc- 
tantly, “that young gent o’ yourn was a gent.” 

“ I tried my very best to render him so,” said the 
doctor, stiffly; “here is the result — how did you discover 
he was one, pray ? ” 

“ ’Cos he acted like a gent,” said Tommy ; “ he took 
and give me a ’arf -suffering.” 

“Well, I’ll give you another,” said the doctor, “if 
you can tell me where he is.” 

“ Thankee, sir, don’t you be afraid ; you’re a gent 
right enough, too, though you do ’appen to be a school- 
master.” 


HARD PRESSED. 281 

“Where is the unhappy boy?” interrupted the 
doctor. 

“ Seems as if I was a roundin’ on ’im, like, don’t it 
a’most, sir ? ” said Tommy, with too evident symptoms 
of yielding in his voice. Paul shook so in his terror 
that he knocked down a broom or two with a clatter, 
which froze his blood. 

“Not at all,” said the doctor, “not at all, my good 
fellow ; you’re — ahem — advancing the cause of moral 
order.” 

“Oh, ah,” said Tommy, obviously open to convic- 
tion. “Well, if Pm a doin’ all that, I can’t go fur 
■wrong, can I? And, arter all, we mayn’t like schools 
or schoolmasters, not over above, but we can’t get on 
without ’em, I s’pose. But, look ye here, sir — if I goes 
and tells you where you can get hold of this here boy, 
you won’t go and wallop him now, will ye ? ” 

“ I can make no bargains,” said the doctor ; “ I shall 
act on my own discretion.” 

“That’s it,” said Tommy, unaccountably relieved, 
“spoke like a merciful Christian gen’leman ; if you 
don’t go actin’ on nothing more but your discretion, 

I you can’t hurt him much, I take it. Well, then, since 
you’ve spoke out fair, I don’t mind putting you on his 
track like.” 

If the door of the cupboard had not been locked, 
Paul would undoubtedly have burst out and yielded 
himself up, to escape the humiliation of being sold like 
this by a mercenary and treacherous porter. As it 
was, he had to wait till the inevitable words should be 
spoken. 

i “ Well, you see,” went on Tommy, very slowly, as 
I if struggling with the remnants of a conscience, “it 


282 


VICE VERSl. 


was like this here : He comes up to me and says — your 
young gen’leman, I mean — says he, ‘Porter, I wants to 
’ide, I’ve run away.’ And I says to him, says I, ‘ It’s 
no use your ’anging about ’ere,’ I says, ‘ ’cause, if you 
do, your guv’nor (moanin’ no offense to you, sir) ’ll be 
cornin’ up and ketchin’ of you on the ’op.’ ‘Right you 
are, porter,’ says he to me ; ‘ what do you advise ? ’ he 
says. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘I don’ know as I’m right in 
givin’ you no advice at all, havin’ run away from them 
as has the care on you,’ I says ; ‘ but if I was a young 
gen’leman as didn’t want to be ketched, I should just 
walk on to Dufferton ; it ain’t on’y three mile or so, 
and you’ll ’ave time for to do it before the up -train 
comes along there.’ ‘ Thankee, porter,’ he says, ‘ I’ll do 
that,’ and away he bolts, and, for anything I know, he’s 
’arf way there by this time.” 

“ A fly ! ” shouted the doctor, excitedly, v/hen Tom- 
my had come to the end of his veracious account. “ I’ll 
catch the young rascal now — who has a good horse? 
Davis, I’ll take you. Five shillings if you reach Duf- 
ferton before the up-train. Take the — ” 

The rest was lost in the banging of the fly-door and 
the rumble of wheels ; the terrible man had been got 
safely off on a wrong scent, and Paul fell back among the 
lumber in his closet, faint with the suspense and relief. 

Presently he heard Tommy’s chuckling whisper 
through the key-hole : “ Are you all right in there, sir ? 
he’s safe enough now ’orf on a pretty dance. You 
didn’t think I was goin’ to tell on ye, did ye now ? I 
ain’t quite sech a cur as that comes to, particular when 
a young gent saves me from the ’errors, and gives me a 
’arf -suffering. I’ll see you through, you make yourself 
easy about that.” 


HARD PRESSED. 


283 


Half an hour went slowly by for Mr. Bultitude in 
his darkness and solitude. The platform gradually filled, 
as he could tell by the tread of feet, the voices, and the 
scent of cigars, and at last, welcome sound, he heard the 
station bell ringing for the up train. 

It ran in the next minute, shaking the cupboard in 
which Paul crouched, till the brushes rattled. There 
was the usual blind hurry and confusion outside as it 
stopped. Paul waited impatiently inside. The time 
passed, and still no one came to let him out. He began 
to grow alarmed. Could Tommy have forgotten him ? 
Had he been sent away by some evil chance at the criti- 
cal moment ? Two or three times his excited fancy 
heard the fatal whistle sound for departure. Would he 
be left behind after all ? 

But the next instant the door was noiselessly un- 
locked. Couldn’t do it afore,” said honest Tommy. 
“ Our guv’nor would have seen me. Now’s your time. 
Here’s a empty first-class coach I’ve kept for ye. In 
with you now.” 

He hoisted Paul up the high footboard to an empty 
compartment, and shut the door, leaving him to sink 
down on the luxurious cushions in speechless and meas- 
ureless content. But Tommy had hardly done so before 
he reappeared and looked in. “ I say,” he suggested, 
‘‘ if I was you, I’d get under the seat before you gets to 
Duiferton ; otherwavs your guv’nor ’ll be spottin’ you. 
I’ll lock you in.” 

‘‘ I’ll get under now ; some one might see me here,” 
said Paul ; and, too anxious for safety to thank his pre- 
server, he crawled under the low, blue-cushioned seat, 
which left just room enough for him to lie there in a 
very cramped and uncomfortable position. Still he need 


284 


VICE VERSA. 


not stay there after the train had once started, except 
for five minutes or so at Dufferton. 

Unfortunately, he had not been long under the seat 
before he heard two loud, imperious voices just outside 
the carriage-door. 

“ Porter ! guard ! Hi, somebody ! open this door, 
will you ; it’s locked.” 

This way, sir,” he heard Tommy’s voice say out- 
side. “ Plenty of room higher up.” 

‘‘ I don’t want to go higher up. I’ll go here. J ust 
open it at once, I tell you.” 

The door was opened reluctantly, and two middle- 
aged men came in. “ Always take the middle carriage 
of a train,” said the first. Safest in any accident, 
y’know. Never heard of a middle carriage of a train 
getting smashed up, to speak of.” 

The other sat heavily down just over Paul, with a 
comfortable grunt, and the train started, Paul feeling 
naturally annoyed by this intrusion, as it compelled him 
to remain in seclusion for the whole of the journey. 
“ Still,” he thought, ‘‘ it is lucky that I had time to get 
under here before they came in ; it would have seemed 
odd if I had done it afterward.” And he resigned him- 
self to listen to the conversation which followed. 

‘‘ What was it we were talking about just now ? ” 
began the first. “ Let me see. Ah ! I remember. Yes ; 
it was a very painful thing — very, indeed, I assure 
you.” 

There is a certain peculiar and uncomfortable sus- 
picion that attacks most of us at times, which can not 
fairly be set down wholly to self-consciousness or an 
exaggerated idea of our own importance. I mean the 
suspicion that a partly heard conversation must have 


HARD PRESSED. 


285 


ourselves for its subject. As often as not, of course, 
it proves utterly unfounded, but once in a way, like 
most presentiments, it finds itself unpleasantly fulfilled. 

Mr. Bultitude, though he failed to recognize either 
of the voices, was somehow persuaded that the conver- 
sation had something to do with himself, and listened 
with eager attention. 

“Yes,” the speaker continued; “he was never, ac- 
cording to what I hear, a man of any extraordinary 
capacity, but he was always spoken of as a man of 
standing in the city, doing a safe business, not a risky 
one, and so on, you know. So, of course, his manner, 
when I called, shocked me all the more.” 

“Ah ! ” said the other. “Was he violent or insult- 
ing, then ? ” 

“No, no ! I can only describe his conduct as eccen- 
tric — what one might call reprehensibly eccentric and 
extravagant. I didn’t call exactly in the way of busi- 
ness, but about a poor young fellow in my house, who 
is, I fear, rather far gone in consummation, and, knowing 
he was a Life Governor, y’know, I thought he might 
give me a letter for the hospital. Well, when I got up 
to Mincing Lane — ” 

Paul started. It was as he had feared then ; they 
were speaking of him ! 

“ When I got there, I sent in my card with a mes- 
sage that, if he was engaged or anything, I would take 
the liberty of calling at his private house, and so on. 
But they said he would see me. The clerk who showed 
me in said : ‘ You’ll find him a good deal changed, if 
you knew him, sir. We’re very uneasy about him 
here,’ which prepared me for something out of the com- 
mon. Well, I went into a sort of inner room, and there 


286 


VICE VERSl. 


he was, in his shirt-sleeves, busy over some abomination 
he was cooking at the stove, with the office-boy helping 
him ! I never was so taken aback in my life. I said 
something about calling another time, but Bultitude — ” 

Paul groaned. The blow had fallen. Well, it was 
better to be prepared and know the worst. 

“Bultitude says, just like a great awkward school- 
boy, y’know, ‘ What’s your name ? How d’ye do ? 
Have some hardbake, it’s just done ? ’ Fancy finding 
a man in his position cooking toffee in the middle of 
the day, and offering it to a perfect stranger ! ” 

“ Softening of the brain — must be,” said the other. 

“I fear so. Well, he asked what I wanted, and I 
told him, and he actually said he never did any business 
now, except sign his name where his clerks told him. 
He’d worked hard all his life, he said, and he was tired 
of it. Business was, I understood him to say, ‘all 
rot ! ’ 

“ Then he wouldn’t promise me votes, or give me a 
letter or anything, without consulting his head clerk ; 
he seemed to know nothing whatever about it himself, 
and, when that was over, he asked me a quantity of 
frivolous questions which appeared to have a sort of 
catch in them, as far as I could gather, and he was ex- 
ceedingly angry when I wouldn’t humor him.” 

“ What kind of questions ? ” 

“Well, really, I hardly know. I believe he wanted 
to know whether I had rather be a bigger fool than I 
looked, or look a bigger fool than I was, and he pressed 
me quite earnestly to repeat some foolishness after him 
about ‘ being a gold key,’ when he said ‘ he was a gold 
lock.’ I was very glad to get away from him, it was so 
distressing.” 


HARD PRESSED. 


287 


‘‘ They tell me he has begun to speculate, too, lately,” 
said the other. “You see his name about in some very 
queer things. It’s a very pitiful affair altogether.” 

Paul writhed under his seat with shame. How could 
he, even if he succeeded in ousting Dick and getting 
back his old self — ^how could he ever hold up his head 
again after this ? 

Why, Dick must be mad. Even a schoolboy would 
have had more caution when so much depended on it. 
But none would suspect the real cause of the change. 
These horrible tales were no doubt being circulated 
everywhere. 

The conversation fell back into a less personal chan- 
nel again after this ; they talked of “ risks,” of some one 
who had only been “ writing ” a year and was doing 
seven thousand a week, of losses they had been “ on,” 
and of the uselessness of “writing five hundred on 
everything,” and while at this point the train slackened 
and stopped — they had reached Dufferton. 

There was an opening of doors all along the train, 
and sounds as of some inquiry and answer at each. The 
voices became audible at length, and, as he had expect- 
ed, Paul found that the doctor, not having discovered 
him on the platform, was making a systematic search 
' of the train, evidently believing that he had managed 
to slip in somewhere unobserved. 

It was a horrible moment when the door of his com- 
partment was flung open, and a stream of ice-cold air 
: rushed under the blue cloth, which, fortunately for Paul, 
hung down almost to the floor. 

, Some one held a lantern up outside, and by its rays 
j Paul saw from behind the hanging the upper half of 
Dr. Grimstone appear, very pale and polite, at the door- 


288 


VICE VERSl. 


way. He remained there for some moments without 
speaking, carefully examining every corner of the com- 
partment. 

The two men on the seats drew their wraps about 
them and shivered, until at length one said, rather testily : 
“ Get in, sir ; kindly get in if you’re coming on, please. 
This draught is most unpleasant ! ” 

I do not propose to travel by this train, sir,” said 
the doctor ; “ but, as a person intrusted with the care of 
youth, permit me to inquire whether you have seen (or, 
it may be, assisted to conceal) a small boy of an intelli- 
gent appearance — ” 

“ Why should we conceal small boys of intelligent 
appearance about us, pray ? ” demanded the man who 
had described his visit to Mincing Lane. “ And may 
we ask you to shut that door, and make any communi- 
cations you wish to make through the window, or else 
come in and sit down ? ” 

“That’s not an answer to my question, sir,” re- 
torted the doctor. “ I notice you carefully decline to say 
whether you have seen a boy. I consider your manner 
suspicious, sir, and I shall insist on searching this car- 
riage through and through till I find that boy ! ” 

Mr. Bultitude rolled himself up close against the 
partition at these awful words. 

“ Guard, guard ! ” shouted the first gentleman. 
“ Come here. Here’s a violent person who will search 
this carriage for something he has lost. I won’t be in- 
convenienced in this way without any reason whatever ! 
He says we’re hiding a boy in here ! ” 

“ Guard ! ” said the doctor, quite as angrily, “ I in- 
sist upon looking under these seats before you start the 
train. I’ve looked through every other carriage and he 


HAKD PRESSED. 


289 


must be in here. Gentlemen, let me pass ; I’ll get him 
if I have to travel in this compartment to town with 
you ! ” 

‘‘For peace and quietness’ sake, gentlemen,” said 
the guard, “ let him look around just to ease his mind. 
Lend me your stick a minute, sir, please. I’ll turn him 
out if he’s anywhere about this here compartment ! ” 

And with this he pulled Dr. Grim stone down from 
the footboard and mounted it himself ; after which he 
began to rummage about under the seats with the doc- 
tor’s heavy stick. 

Every lunge found out some tender part in Mr. B al- 
titude’s person and caused him exquisite torture ; but 
he clenched his teeth hard to prevent a sound, while he 
thought each fresh dig must betray his whereabouts. 

“ There,” said the guard at last ; “ there really ain’t 
no one there, sir, you see. I’ve felt everywhere and 
— Hello, I certainly did feel something just then, 
gentlemen ! ” he added, in an undertone, after a lunge 
which took all the breath out of Paul’s body. All was 
lost now ! 

“You touch that again with that confounded stick 
if you dare ! ” said one of the passengers. “ That’s a 
parcel of mine. I won’t have you poking holes through 
it in that way. Don’t tell that lunatic behind you ; he’ll 
be wanting it opened to see if his boy’s inside. How 
perhaps you’ll let us alone.” 

“Well, sir,” said the guard at last to the doctor, as 
he withdrew, “ he ain’t in there. There’s nothing under 
any of the seats. Your boy’ll be cornin’ on by the 
next train, most likely — the 8.40. We’re all behind. 
Right ! ” 

“Good-night, sir,” said the first passenger, as he 
13 


290 


VICE VERSl. 


leaned out of the window, to the baffled schoolmaster on 
the platform. You’ve put us to all this inconvenience 
for nothing, and in the most offensive way, too. I hope 
you won’t find your boy till you’re in a better temper, 
for his sake.” 

“ If I had you out on this platform, sir,” shouted 
the angry doctor, “I’d horsewhip you for that insult. 
I believe the boy’s there, and you know it. I — ” 

But the train swept off, and, to Paul’s joy and thank- 
fulness, soon left the doctor gesticulating and threaten- 
ing, miles behind it. 

“ What a violent fellow for a schoolmaster, eh ? ” 
said one of Paul’s companions, when they were fairly 
off again. “ I wasn’t going to have him turning the 
cushions inside out here ; we shouldn’t have settled 
down again before we got in ! ” 

“hTo ; and if the guard hasn’t, as it is, injured that 
Indian shawl in my parcel. I shall be — Why, bless 
my soul, that parcel’s not under the seat after all ! It’s 
up in the rack. I remember putting it there now.” 

“ The guard must have fancied he felt something ; 
and yet— Look here, Goldicutt ; just feel under 
here with your foot. It certainly does seem as if some- 
thing soft was — eh ? ” 

Mr. Goldicutt accordingly explored Paul’s ribs with 
his boot for some moments, which was very painful. 

“Upon my word,” he said at last, “it really does 
seem very like it. It’s not hard enough for a bag or a 
hat-box. It yields distinctly when you kick it. Can 
you fetch it out with your umbrella do you think? 
Shall we tell the guard at the next — ? Lord, its com- 
ing out of its own accord. It’s a dog. No, my stars 

it’s the boy, after all ! ” 


HARD PRESSED. 


291 


For Paul, alarmed at the suggestion about the guard, 
once more felt inclined to risk the worst and reveal 
himself. Begrimed with coal, smeared with whitewash, 
and covered with dust and flue, he crawled slowly out 
and gazed imploringly up at his fellow-passengers. 

After the first shock of surprise they lay back in 
their seats and laughed till they cried. 

‘‘ Why, you young rascal ! ” they said, when they 
recovered breath, “ you don’t mean to say you’ve been 
under there the whole time ? ” 

“ I have, indeed,” said Paul. I — I didn’t like to 

come out before.” 

“And are you the boy all this fuss was about? 
Yes ? And we kept the schoolmaster off without know- 
ing it ! Why this is splendid, capital ! You’re some- 
thing like a boy, you little dog, you ! This is the best 
joke Pve heard for many a day ! ” 

“ I hope,” said Paul, “ I haven’t inconvenienced you. 
I could not help it, really.” 

“ Inconvenienced us ? Gad, your schoolmaster came 
very near inconveniencing us and you too. But there, 
he won’t trouble any of us now. To think of our 
swearing by all our gods there was no boy in here, and 
vowing he shouldn’t come in, while you were lying down 
there under the seat all the time ! Why, it’s lovely ! 
The boy’s got pluck and manners too. Shake hands, 
young gentleman; you owe us no apologies. I haven’t 
had such a laugh for many a day.” 

“ Then you — you won’t give me up ? ” faltered poor 
Paul. 

“Well,” said the one who was called Goldicutt, 
and who was a jovial old gentleman with a pink face 
and white whiskers, “ we’re not exactly going to take 


292 


VICE VERSA. 


the trouble of getting out at the next station, and bring- 
ing you back to Dufferton, just to oblige that hot-tem- 
pered master of yours ; you know he hasn’t been so 
particularly civil as to deserve that.” 

‘‘ But if he were to telegraph, and get some one to 
stop me at St. Pancras,” said Paul, nervously. 

“ Ah, he might do that, to be sure — sharp boy this — 
well, as we’ve gone so far, I suppose we must go through 
with the business now and smuggle the young scamp 
past the detectives, eh, Travers?” 

The younger man addressed assented readily enough, 
for the doctor had been so unfortunate as to prejudice 
them both from the first by his unjustifiable suspicions, 
and it is to be feared they had no scruples in helping to 
outwit him. 

Then they noticed the pitiable state Mr. B altitude 
was in, and he had to give them a fair account of his 
escape and subsequent adventures, at which even their 
sympathy could not restrain delighted shouts of laugh- 
ter — though Paul himself saw little enough in it all to 
laugh at ; they asked his name, which he thought more 
prudent, for various reasons, to give as “Jones,” and 
other details, which I am afraid he invented as he went 
on, and altogether they reached Kentish Town in a state 
of high satisfaction with themselves and their protegL 

At Kentish Town there was one more danger to be 
encountered, for with the ticket-collector there appeared 
one of the station inspectors. “Beg pardon, gentle- 
men,” said the latter, peering curiously in, “but does 
that young gent in the corner happen to belong to either 
of you ? ” 

The white-whiskered gentleman seemed a little flus- 
tered at this downright inquiry, but the other was more 


HARD PRESSED, 


293 


equal to the occasion. “Do you Rear that, Johnny, my 
boy,” he said to Paul (whom they had managed during 
the journey to brush and scrape into something approach- 
ing respectability) ; “ they want to know if you belong 
to me. I suppose you’ll allow a son to belong to his 
father to a certain extent, eh ? ” he asked the inspector. 

The man apologized for what he conceived to be a 
mistake. “We’ve orders to look out for a young gent 
about the size of yours, sir,” he explained ; “ no olfense 
meant, I’m sure,” and he went away satisfied. 

A very few minutes more and the train rolled in to 
the terminus, under the same wide arch beneath which 
Paul had stood, helpless and bewildered, a week ago. 

“]!^^’ow my advice to you, young man,” said Mr. 
Goldicutt, as he put Paul into a cab, and pressed half a 
sovereign into his unwilling hand, “is to go straight 
home to papa and tell him all about it. I daresay he 
won’t be very hard on you ; here’s my card ; refer him 
to me if you like. Good-night, my boy, good-night, 
and good luck to you. Gad, the best joke I’ve had for 
years ! ” 

And the cab rolled away, leaving them standing 
chuckling on the platform, and, as Paul found himself 
plunging once more into the welcome roar and rattle of 
London streets, he forgot the difficulties and dangers that 
might yet lie before him in the thought that at last he 
was beyond the frontier, and, for the first time since he 
had slipped through the playground-gate, he breathed 
freely. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A PEEFIDIOTJS ALLY.’ 

“ But homeward— home — what home ? had he a home ? 

His home — ^he walked; 

Then'doWn thedohg street having, slowly stolen, 

His heart foreshadowing all calamity,' ■ ’ . ■ 

His eyes upon the stones, he reached his home.” 

Paul had been careful, while in the hearing of his 
friends, to give the cabman a fictitious address, but as 
soon as he reached the Euston Road he stopped the 
man and ordered him to put him down at the church 
near the south end of Westhourne Terrace, for he dared 
not drive up openly to his own door. 

At last he found himself standing safely on the 
pavement, looking down the long line of yellow lamps 
of his own terrace, only a few hundred yards frbm home. 

But, though his purpose was now within easy reach, 
his spirits .were far frbm high ; his anxiety had returned 
with fenfold power ; he felt no eagerness or exultation ; 
on the contrary, the task he ,had set himself had’^hever 
before seemed so hopeless, so insurmountable. 

He stood for some time by the railing of the church, 
which was lighted up for evening service, listening 
blankly to the solenin drone of the organ within,- unable 
to summon up resolution to move from the spot and pre- 
sent himself to his unsuspecting family. 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


295 


It was a cold night, with a howling wind, and high 
in the blue-black sky fleecy-white clouds were coursing 
swiftly along ; he obliged himself to set out at last, and 
walked down the flags toward his house, shivering, as 
much from nervousness as cold. 

There was a dance somewhere in the terrace that 
evening — a large one ; as far as he could see there were 
close ranks of carriages with blazing lamps, and he even 
fancied he could hear the shouts of the link-boys and 
the whistles of the commissionaires. 

As he came nearer he had a hideous suspicion, which 
soon became a certainty, that the entertainment was at 
his own house ; worse still, it was of a kind and on a 
scale calculated to shock and horrify any prudent house- 
holder and father of a family. 

The balcony above the portico was positively hung 
with gaudy Chinese lanterns, and there were even some 
strange sticks an<d :shapes up in one corner that looked 
suspiciously like Are works. Firewprksdn ^Westbourne 
Terrace ! What would the neighbors think or do ? 

Between the wall which separates the main road 
from the terrace and the street front there were no less 
than four piano-organs, playing, it is to be feared, by 
express invitation ; and there was the usual crowd of 
idlers and loungers standing about by the awning 
stretched over the portico, listening to the music and 
loud laughter which came from the brilliantly lighted 
upper rooms. 

Paul remembered then, too late, that Barbara, in 
that memorable letter of hers, had mentioned a grand 
children’s party as being in contemplation. Dick had 
held his tongue about it that morning ; and he himself 
had not thought it was to be so soon. 


296 


VICE VEESl. 


For an instant lie felt almost inclined to turn away 
and give the whole thing up in sick despair — even to 
return to Rodwell Regis and brave the doctor’s anger ; 
for how could he hope to explain matters to his family 
and servants, or get the Garud^ Stone safely into his 
hands again before all these guests, in the whirl and 
tumult of an evening party ? 

And yet he dared not, after all, go back to Crichton 
House — that was too terrible an alternative — and he 
obviously could not roam the world to any extent, a 
runaway schoolboy to all appearance, and with less than 
a sovereign in his pocket ! 

After a short struggle he felt he must make his way 
in, watch and wait, and leave the rest to chance. It 
was his evil fate, after all, that had led him on to make 
his escape on this night, of all others, and had allowed 
him to come through so much, only to be met with these 
unforeseen complications just when he might have im- 
agined the worst was over. 

He forced his way through the staring crowd, and 
went down the steps into the area ; for he naturally 
shrank from braving the front door, with its crowd of 
footmen and hired waiters. 

He found the door in the basement open, which was 
fortunate, and slipped quietly through the pantry, in- 
tending to reach the hall by the kitchen stairs. But 
here another check met him. The glass-door which led 
to the stairs happened to be shut, and he heard voices 
in the kitchen, which convinced him that, if he wished 
to escape notice, he must wait quietly in the dark- 
ness until the door was opened for him, whenever that 
might be. 

The door from the pantry to the kitchen was partly 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


297 


open, however, and Mr. Bultitude could not avoid hear- 
ing everything that passed there, although every fresh 
word added to his uneasiness, until at last he would 
have given worlds to escape from his involuntary posi- 
tion of eavesdropper. 

There were only two persons just then in the kitchen 
— his cook, who, still in her working-dress, was refresh- 
ing herself, after her labors over the supper, with a 
journal of some sort ; and the housemaid, who, in neat 
gala costume, was engaged in fastening a bow more 
securely in her mob-cap. 

They haven’t give me a answer yet, Eliza,” said 
the cook, looking up from her paper. 

‘‘ Lor’, cook ! ” said Eliza, “ you couldn’t hardly ex- 
pect it, seeing you only wrote on Friday.” 

“ hlo more I did, Eliza. You see it on’y began to 
come into my mind sudden like this last week. I’m 
sure I no more dreamt — . But they’ve answered a lady 
who’s bin in much the same situation as me, aperiently. 
You just ’ark to this a minute.” And she proceeded to 
read from her paper : “ ^ Lady Bird: You ask us (1) 
what are the signs by which you may recognize the first 
dawnings of your lover’s affection. On so delicate a 
matter we are naturally averse from advising you ; your 
own heart must be your best guide. But perhaps we 
may mention a few of the most usual and infallible 
symptoms ’ — What sort of a thing is a symptim, Eliza ? ” 
“ A symptim, cook,” explained Eliza, “ is a something 
wrong with the inside. Her at my last place in Cado- 
gan Square had them uncommon bad. She was what 
they call jesthetical, pore young thing. Them infallible 
ones are always the worst.” 

“ It don’t seem to make sense, though, Eliza,” ob- 


298 


VICE VERSl. 


jected cook, doubtfully. “ Hear how it goes on : ‘ In- 
fallible symptoms. If you have truly inspired him with 
a genuine and lasting passion ’ (don’t he write beauti- 
ful ?) ‘ passion, he will continually haunt those places in 
which you are most likely to be found ’ (I couldn’t tell 
you the times master’s bin down in my kitchen this last 
week) ; ‘ he will appear awkward and constrained in 
your presence ’ (anything more awkward than master I 
never set eyes on. He’s knocked down one of the best 
porcelain vegetables this very afternoon !) ; ‘he will beg 
for any little favors, some trifle, it may be, made by 
your own hand’ (master’s always a-asking if I’ve got 
any of those doughnuts to give away) ; ‘ and, if granted, 
he will treasure them in secret with pride and rapture ’ 
(I don’t think master kep’ any of them doughnuts, 
though, Eliza. I saw him swaller five ; but you couldn’t 
treasure a doughnut, not to mention — . I’ll make him 
a pincushion when I’ve time, and see what he does with 
it). ‘ If you detect all these indications of liking in the 
person you suspect of paying his addresses to you, you 
may safely reckon upon bringing him to your feet in a 
very short space of time. (2) Yes, Fullers’ earth will 
make them exquisitely white.’ ” 

“ There, Eliza ! ” said cook, with some pride, when 
she had finished ; “ if it had been meant for me it 
couldn’t have been clearer. Ain’t it written nice ? And 
on’y to think of my bringing master to my feet. It 
seems almost too much for a cook to expect ! ” 

“ I wouldn’t say so, cook ; I wouldn’t. Have some 
proper pride. Don’t let him think he’s only to ask and 
have ! Why, in the ‘London Journal’ last week there 
was a dook as married a governess ; and I should ’ope 
as a cook ranked above a governess. Hor yet master 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


299 


ain’t a dock ; he’s only in the city ! But are you sure 
he’s not only a trifling with your affections, cook ? He’s 
bin very affable and pleasant with all of us lately.” 

“ It ain’t for me to speak too positive, Eliza,” said 
cook, almost bashfully, ‘‘ nor to lay bare the feelings of 
a bosom, beyond what’s right and proper. You’re young 
yet, Eliza, and don’t understand these things — leastways, 
it’s to be hoped not (Eliza having apparently tossed her 
head) ; but do you remember that afternoon last week 
as master stayed at home a-playing games with the 
children ? I was a-goin’ up stairs to fetch my thimble^ 
and there, on the bedroom landin’, was master all alone, 
with one of Master Dick’s toy guns in his ’and, and a 
old slouch ’at on his head.” 

‘‘ ‘ Have you got a pass, cook ? ’ he says, and my ’art 
came right uj) into my mouth, he looked that severe and 
lofty at me. I thought he was put out about some- 
think. 

“ I said I didn’t know as it was required, but I 
could get one,” I says, “not knowing what he was 
alludin’ to all the same. 

“ But he says, quite soft and tender-like (here Paul 
shivered with shame), ‘ Ho, you needn’t do that, cook ; 
there ain’t any occasion for it ; only ’ he says, ‘ if you 
haven’t got no pass, you’ll have to give me a kiss, you 
know, cook ! ’ I thought I should have sunk through 
the stairs, I was that overcome. I saw through his rouge 
with half an eye.” 

“ Why, he said the same to me,” said Eliza, “ only I 
had a pass, as luck had it, which Miss Barbara give me. 
I’d ha’ boxed his ears if he’d tried it, too, master or no 
master ! ” 

“ You talk light, Eliza,” said the cook, sentimentally. 


300 


VICE versa. 


“but you wern’t there to see. It wasn’t only the words, 
it was the way he said it, and the ’ug he gave me at the 
time. It was as good as a proposial. And, I tell you, 
whatever you may say — and mark my words — I ’ave 
’opes ! ” 

“ Then if I was you, cook,” said Eliza, “ I’d try if I 
could get him to speak out plain in writing ; then, 
whatever came of it, there’d be as good as five hundred 
pounds in your pockets.” 

“ Love-letters ! ” cried the cook, “ why, if that’s all. 
Lord love you, Eliza — Why, William, how you made 
me jump ! I thought you was up seein’ to the suppor- 
table.” 

“The pastry-cook’s man is looking after all that, 
Jane,” said Boaler’s voice. “ I’ve been up outside the 
droring-room all this time, lookin’ at the games goin’ on 
in there. It’s as good as a play to see the way as master 
is a unbendin’ of himself, and such a out and out stiff un 
as he used to be, too ! But it ain’t what I like to see in 
a respectable house. I’m glad I give warning. It doesn’t 
do for a man in my position to compromise his charac- 
ter by such goings on. I never see anything like it in 
any families I lived with before. Just come up and see 
for yourself. You needn’t mind about cleaning of your- 
self — they won’t see you.” 

So the cook allowed herself to be persuaded by 
Boaler, and the two went up to the hall, and, to Mr. 
Bultitude’s intense relief, forgot to close the glazed door 
which cut him off from the staircase. 

As he followed them up stairs at a cautious interval, 
and thought over what he had just so unwillingly over- 
heard, he felt as one who had just been subjected to 
a moral shower-bath. “ That dreadful woman ! ” he 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


301 


groaned. “ Who would have dreamed that she would 
get such horrible ideas into her head ? I shall never be 
able to look either of those women in the face again ; 
they will both have to go — and she made such excellent 
soup, too. I do hope that miserable Dick has not been 
fool enough to write to her — ^but no, that’s too absurd.” 

But more than ever he began to wish that he had 
stayed in the playground. 

When he reached the hall he stood there for some 
moments in anxious deliberation over his best course of 
proceeding. His main idea was to lie in wait some- 
where for Dick, and try the result of an appeal to his 
better feelings to acknowledge his outcast parent and 
abdicate gracefully. 

If that failed, and there was every reason to expect 
that it would fail, he must threaten to denounce him 
before the whole party. It would cause a considerable 
scandal no doubt, and be’ a painful thing to his own 
feelings, but still he must do it, or frighten Dick by 
threatening to do it ; and at all hazards he must con- 
trive during the interview to snatch or purloin the magic 
stone ; without that he was practically helpless. 

He looked round him ; the study was piled up with 
small boy’s hats and coats, and in one corner was a kind 
of refined bar, where till lately a trim housemaid had 
been dispensing coffee and weak lemonade ; she might 
return at any moment ; he would not be safe there. 

Hor would the dining-room be more secluded, for in 
it there was an elaborate supper being laid out by the 
waiters, which, as far as he could see through the crack 
in the door, consisted chiefly of lobsters, trifle, and pink 
champagne. He felt a grim joy at the sight, more than 
he would suffer for this night’s festivities. 


302 


VICE VERSl. 


As he stole about, with a dismal sense of the unfit- 
ness of his sneaking about his own house in this guilty 
fashion, he became gradually aware of the scent of a 
fine cigar, one of his own special Cabanas. He won- 
dered who had the impudence to trespass on his cigar- 
chest ; it could hardly be one of the children. 

He traced the scent to a billiard-room which he had 
built out at the side of the house, which was a corner 
one, and, going down to the door, opened it sharply 
and walked in. 

Comfortably imbedded in the depths of a long, well- 
padded lounging chair, with a spirit-case and two or 
three bottles of soda-water at his elbow, sat a man who 
was lazily glancing through the “ Field,” with his feet 
resting on the mantelpiece, one on each side of the 
blazing fire. He was a man of about the middle size, 
with a face rather bronzed and reddened by climate, a 
nose slightly aquiline and higher in color, quick, black 
eyes, with an uneasy glance in them, bushy black whis- 
kers, more like the antiquated “Dundreary” type 
than modern fashion permits, and a wide, flexible 
mouth. 

Paul knew him at once, though he had not seen 
him for some years ; it was Paradine, his disreputable 
brother-in-law — the “ Uncle Marmaduke ” who, by im- 
porting the mysterious Garuda Stone, had brought all 
these woes upon him ; he noticed at once that his ap- 
pearance was unusually prosperous, and that the velvet 
smoking coat he wore over his evening dress was new 
and handsome. “ Ho wonder,” he thought bitterly ; 
“ the fellow has been living on me for a week ! ” He 
stood by the cue-rack looking at him for some time, and 
then he said, with a cold, ironic dignity, that (if he had 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


303 


known it) came oddly from his boyish lips : “ I hope 
you are making yourself quite comfortable ? ” 

Marmaduke put down his cigar and stared. “ Un- 
commonly attentive and polite of you to inquire,” he 
said, at last, with a dubious smile, which showed a row 
of very white teeth, “ whoever you are. If it will re- 
lieve your mind at all to know, young man, I’m happy 
'to say I am tolerably comfortable, thanks.” 

I — I concluded as much,” said Paul, nearly choked 
with rage. 

^‘You’ve been very nicely brought up,” said Uncle 
Marmaduke ; “ I can see that at a glance. So you’ve 
come in here, like me, eh ? because the children bore 
yon, and you want a quiet gossip over the world in gen- 
eral ? Sit down, then ; take a cigar, if you don’t think 
it will make you very unwell. I shouldn’t recommend 
it myself, you know, before supper — but you’re a man 
of the world and know what’s good for you. Come 
along, enjoy yourself till you find yourself getting queer 
— then drop it.” 

Mr. Bultitude had always detested the man ; there 
was an underbred swagger and familiarity in his man- 
ner that made him indescribably offensive ; just now he 
seemed doubly detestable, and yet Paul, by a strong 
effort, succeeded in controlling his temper. 

He could not afford to make enemies just then, and, 
objectionable as the man was, his astuteness made him 
a valuable ally ; he determined, without considering the 
risk of making such a confidant, to tell him all and ask 
his advice and help. 

‘‘ Don’t you know me, Paradine ? ” 

“ I don’t think I have the privilege ; you’re one of 
Miss Barbara’s numerous young friends, I suppose ? and 


304 


VICE VERSA. 


yet, now I look at you, you don’t seem to be exactly got 
up for an evening party ; there’s something in your voice, 
too, I ought to know.” 

“You ought,” said Paul, with a gulp. “My name 
is Paul Bultitude ! ” 

“ To be sure ! ” cried Marmaduke. “ By Jove, then, 
you’re my young nephew, don’t you know ; I’m your 
long-lost uncle, my boy, I am indeed (I’ll excuse you 
from coming to my arms, however ; I never was good 
at family embraces). But, I say, you little rascal, you’ve 
never been asked to these festivities ; you ought to be 
miles away, fast asleep in your bed at school. What in 
the name of wonder are you doing here ? ” 

“I’ve — left school,” said Paul. 

“ So I perceive, sulky because they left you out of 
all this, eh ? Thought you’d turn up in the middle of 
the banquet, like the specter bridegroom — ‘the worms 
they crawled in, and the worms they crawled out, eh ? ’ 
Well, I like your pluck, but, ahem — I’m afraid you’ll 
find they’ve , rather an unpleasant way of laying your 
kind of apparitions.” 

“ Never mind about that,” said Paul, hurriedly ; “ I 
have something I must tell you — I’ve no time to lose — 
I’m a desperate man ! ” 

“You are,” Paradine assented with a loud laugh; 
“ oh, you are indeed ! ‘ a desperate man.’ Capital ! a 
stern chase, eh ? the schoolmaster close behind with the 
birch? It’s quite exciting, you know, but, seriously, 
I’m very much afraid you’ll catch it ! ” 

“ If,” began Mr. Bultitude in great embarrassment,“ if 
I was to tell you that I was not myself at all — but some- 
body else, a — in fact, an entirely different person from 
what I seem to you to be— I suppose you would laugh ? ” 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


305 


i I beg your pardon,” said his brother-in-law, politely, 

: ‘‘ I don’t think I quite catch the idea ? ” 

“ When I assure you now, solemnly, as I stand here 
: before you, that I am not the miserable boy whose form 
I I am condemned to — ^to wear, you’ll say it is incredi- 
! ble ? ” 

I ‘‘Not at all — by no means, I quite believe you. 
i Only (really it’s a mere detail), but I should rather like 
to know, if you’re not that particular boy, what other 
boy you may happen to be? You’ll forgive my curi- 
osity.” 

“I’m not a boy at all — I’m your own unhappy 
brother-in-law, Paul ! You don’t believe me, I see ? ” 

“ Oh, pardon me, it’s perfectly clear ! you’re not 
your own son, but your own father — it’s a little confus- 
ing at first, but no doubt common enough. I’m glad 
you mentioned it, though.” 

“ Go on,” said Paul, bitterly, “ make light of it ; you 
; fancy you are being very clever, but you will find out 
the truth in time.” 

: “ Not without external assistance, I’m afraid,” said 

Paradine, calmly. “ A more awful little liar for your 
age I never saw — don’t you think you can lie pretty well 
! yourself ? ” 

I “I’m tired of this,” said Paul. “Only listen to 
reason and common sense.” 

“ Only give me a chance.” 

“I tell you,” protested Paul, earnestly, “it’s the 
sober, awful truth — I’m not a boy ; its years since I was 
a boy ; I’m a middle-aged man, thrust into this — this 
humiliating form ! ” 

“Don’t say that,” murmured the other; “it’s an 
! excellent fit — very becoming, I assure you.” 


306 


VICE VEIiSl. 


“ Do you want to drive me mad with your clumsy 
jeers?” cried Paul. “Look at me. Do I speak, do I 
behave, like an ordinary schoolboy ? ” 

“ I really hope not — for the sake of the rising gen- 
eration,” said Uncle Marmaduke, chuckling at his own 
powers of repartee. 

“You are very jaunty to-day ; you look as if you 
were well off,” said Paul, slowly. “ I remember a time 
when a certain bill was presented to me, drawn by you, 
and appearing to be accepted (long before I ever saw 
it) by me. I consented to meet it for my poor Maria’s 
sake, and because to disown my signature would have 
ruined you for life. Do you remember how you went 
down on your knees in my private room and swore you 
would reform and be a credit to your family yet ? You 
weren’t quite so well off, or so jaunty then, unless I am 
very much mistaken.” 

These words had an extraordinary effect upon Uncle 
Marmaduke ; he turned ashy white, and his quick eyes 
shifted restlessly as he half rose from his chair and 
threw away his unfinished cigar. 

“ You young hound ! ” he said, breathing hard and 
speaking under his breath. “ How did you get hold of 
that — that lying story ? Your father must have let it 
out ! Why do you bring up bygones like this ? You 
— you’re a confounded, disagreeable little prig ! Who 
told you to play an ill-natured trick of this sort on an 
uncle, who may have been wild and reckless in his 
youth — was in fact — ^but who never, never misused his 
relation toward you as — as an uncle ? ” 

“ How did I get hold of the story ? ” said Paul, ob- 
serving the impression he had made. “ Do you think 
if I were really a boy of thirteen I should know as much 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


307 


i about you as I do ? Do you want to know more ? Ask, 
if you dare ! Shall I tell you how it was you left your 
army-coach without going up for examination ? Will 
you have the story of your career in my old friend 
Parkinson’s counting-house, or the real reason of your 
, trip to New York, or what it was that made your father 
add that codicil, cutting you off with a set of engrav- 
. ings of the ‘ Rake’s Progress,’ and a guinea to pay for 
framing them ? I can tell you all about it, if you care 
to hear.” 

‘‘ No ! ” shrieked Paradine, “ I won’t listen. When 
you grow up, ask your father to buy you a society jour- 
nal. You’re cut out for an editor of one. It doesn’t 
, interest me.” 

“ Do you believe my story or not ? ” asked Paul. 

I don’t know. Who could believe it ? ” said the 
other, sullenly. “How can you possibly account for 

I it?” 

“Do you remember giving Maria a little sandal- 
wood box with a small stone in it ? ” said Paul. 

“ I have some recollection of giving her something 
of that kind. A curiosity, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ I wish I had never seen it. That infernal stone, 
Paradine, has done all this to me. Did no one tell you 
it was supposed to have any magic power ? ” 

; “Why, now I think of it, that old black rascal, 

! Bindabun Doss, did try to humbug me with some such 
story ; said it was believed to be a talisman, but the 
[ secret was lost. I thought it was just his stingy way 
! of trying to make the rubbish out as something price- 
I less, as it ought to have been, considering all I did for 
the old ruffian.” 

! “You told Maria it was a talisman. Bindabun 


308 


VICE VERSA. 


what’s-Ris-name was right. It is a talisman of the dead- 
liest sort. I’ll soon convince you, if you will only hear 
me out.” 

And then, in white-hot wrath and indignation, Mr. 
Bultitude began to tell the story I have already at- 
tempted to sketch here, dwelling bitterly on Dick’s 
heartless selfishness and cruelty, and piteously on his 
own incredible sufferings, while Uncle Marmaduke, loll- 
ing back in his arm-chair, with an attempt (which was 
soon abandoned) to retain a smile of amused skepticism 
on his face, heard him out in complete silence and with 
all due gravity. 

Indeed, Paul’s manner left him no room for further 
unbelief. His tale, wild and improbable as it was, was 
too consistent and elaborate for any schoolboy to have 
invented, and, besides, the imposture would have been 
so entirely purposeless. 

When his brother-in-law had come to the end of his 
sad history, Paradine was silent for some time. It was 
some relief to know that the darkest secrets of his life 
had not been ferreted out by a phenomenally sharp 
nephew ; but the change in the situation was not with- 
out its drawbacks ; it remained to be seen how it might 
affect himself. He already saw his reign in Westbourne 
Terrace threatened with a speedy determination, unless 
he played his cards well. 

“ Well,” he said at last, with a swift, keen glance at 
Paul, who sat anxiously waiting for his next words, 
“ suppose I were to say that I think there may be some- 
thing in this story of yours, what then ? What is it 
you want me to do for you ? ” 

“ Why,” said Paul, “ with all you owe to me, now 
you know the horrible injustice I have had to bear, you 


A PEEFIDIOUS ALLY. 


309 


surely don’t mean to say that you won’t help me to right 
myself ? ” 

“ And if I did help you, what then ? ” 

“ Why, I should be able to recover all I have lost, 
of course,” said Mr. Bultitude. He thought his brother- 
in-law had grown very dull. 

“ Ah, but I mean, what’s to become of me ? ” 

“ You ? ” repeated Paul (he had not thought of that). 
‘‘Well, hum, from what I know and what you know 
that I know about your past life, you can’t expect me 
to encourage you to remain here ? ” 

“Ho,” said Uncle Marmaduke. “Of course not; 
very right and proper.” 

“But,” said Paul, willing to make- all reasonable 
concessions, “ anything I can do to advance your pros- 
pects — such as paying your passage out to Hew York, 
you know, and so on — I should be very ready to do.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said the other. 

“And even, if necessary, provide you with a small 
fund to start afresh upon. Honestly,” said Paul, “ you 
will not find me difficult to deal with.” 

“It’s a dazzling proposition,” remarked Paradine, 
dryly. “You have such an alluring way of putting 
things. But the fact is, you’ll hardly believe it, but 
I’m remarkably well off here. I am indeed. Your son, 
you know, though not you (except as a mere matter of 
form), really makes, as they say of the marmalade in 
the advertisements, an admirable substitute. I doubt, 
I do assure you, whether you yourself would have re- 
ceived me with quite the same warmth and hospitality 
I have met with from him.” 

“ So do I,” said Paul ; “very much-.” 

“Just so ; for, without your admirable business ca- 


310 


VICE VERSl. 


pacity and extraordinary firmness of character, you 
know, he has, if you’ll excuse my saying so, a more 
open, guileless nature, a more entire and touching faith 
in his fellow-man and brother-in-law, than were ever 
yours.” 

“To say that to me,” said Paul, hotly, “is nothing 
less than sheer impudence.” 

“ My dear Paul (it does seem deuced odd to be talk- 
ing to a little shrimp like you as a grown-up brother-in- 
law. I shall get used to it presently, I daresay). I 
flatter myself I am a man of the world. VYe’re dealing 
with one another now, as the lawyers have it, at arm’s 
length. Just put yourself in my place (you’re so re- 
markably good at putting yourself in other people’s 
places, you know). Look at the thing from my point 
of view. Accidentally dropping in at your offices to 
negotiate (if I could) a small temporary loan from any 
one I chanced to meet on the premises, I find myself, to 
my surprise, welcomed with effusion into what I then 
imagined to be your arms. More than that, I was in- 
vited here for an indefinite time, all my little eccentrici- 
ties unmentioned, overlooked. I was deeply touched 
(it struck me, I confess, at one time that you must be 
touched too), but I made the best use of my opportuni- 
ties. I made hay while the sun shone.” 

“ Do you mean to make me lose my temper ? ” inter- 
rupted Paul. “ It will not take much more.” 

“ I have no objection. I find men as a rule easier to 
deal with when they have once lost their temper, their 
heads so often go too. But to return : a man with 
nerve and his fair share of brains, like myself, only 
wants a capitalist (he need not be a millionaire) at his 
back to conquer the world. It’s not by any means my 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


311 


first campaign, and I’ve had reverses, but I see victory- 
in my grasp, sir, in my grasp at last ! ” 

Paul groaned. 

“ Now you — it’s not your fault, I know, a mere de- 
fect of constitution ; but you, as a speculator, were, if I 
may venture to put it so, not worth your salt ; no bold- 
ness, no dash, all caution. But your promising son is a 
regular whale on speculation, and I may tell you that 
we stand in together in some little ventures that would 
very probably make your hair stand on end — you 
wouldn’t have touched them. And yet there’s money 
in every one of them.” 

“ I daresay there is,” said Paul, savagely ; I won’t 
have any of my money in them.” 

“ You don’t know much about these things, you see,” 
said Marmaduke ; I tell you I have my eye on some 
fine openings for capital.” 

‘‘Your pockets always were very fine openings for 
capital,” retorted Paul. 

“ Ha, ha, deuced sharp that ! But, to come to the 
point, you were always a sensible, practical kind of a 
fellow, and you must see that, for me to back you up 
and upset this young rascal who has stepped into your 
slippers, might be morally meritorious enough, but, 
treating it from a purely pecuniary point of view, it’s 
not business.” 

“ I see,” said Mr. Bultitude, heavily ; “ then you side 
against me.” 

“ Did I ever say I would side against you ? Let us 
hear first what you propose to do.” 

Paul, upon this, explained that, as he believed the 
stone still retained its power of granting one wish to 
any other person who happened to get hold of it, his 


312 


VICE VERSA. 


idea was to get possession of it somehow from Dick, 
probably would have it about him somewhere, and 
then pass it on to some one whom he could trust not to 
misuse it so basely. n 

“ A good idea that, Paul, my boy,” said Paradine, 
smiling ; “ but you don’t imagine our young friend 
would be quite such an idiot as not to see your game ! 
Why, he would pitch the stone in the gutter and stamp 
it to powder rather than let you get hold of it.” 

“ He’s quite capable of it,” said Paul ; “ in fact, he 
threatened to do worse than that. I doubt if I shall 
ever be able to manage it myself ; but what am I to do ? 
I must try, and I’ve no time to lose about it either.” 

“ I tell you this,” said Marmaduke, “ if you let him 
see you here, it’s all up with you. What you want is 
some friend to manage this for you, some one he won’t 
suspect. Now, suppose I were willing to risk it for 
you ? ” 

“ You ! ” cried Paul, with involuntary distrust. 

‘‘ Why not ? ” said Marmaduke, with a touch of feel- 
ing. ‘‘Ah, I see, you can’t trust me. You’ve got an 
idea into your head that I’m a thorough-paced rascal, 
without a trace of human feeling about me. I daresay 
I deserve it, I daresay I do ; but it’s not generous, my 
boy, for all that. I hope to show you your mistake 
yet, if you give me the chance. You allow yourself to 
be prejudiced by the past ; that’s where you make your 
mistake. I only put before you clearly and plainly 
what it was I was giving up in helping you. A fellow 
may have a hard, cynical kind of way of putting things, 
and yet, take my word for it, Paul, have a heart as 
tender as a spring chicken underneath. I believe I’m 
something like that myself. I tell you I’m sorry for 


A PERFIDIOUS ALLY. 


313 


you. I don’t like to see a family man of your pq^ion 
in such a regular deuce of a hole. I feel hound to^ive 
you a lift out of it, and let my prospects take their own 
chance. I leave the gratitude to you. When I’ve done, 
kick me down the doorsteps if you like. I shall go out 
into the world with a glow of self-approval (and rapid 
motion) warming my system. Take my advice, don’t 
attempt to tackle Master Dick yourself. Leave him to 
me.” 

1 

I “ If I could only make up my mind to trust you ! ” 
j muttered Paul. 

I “ The old distrust,” cried Marmaduke ; “ you can’t 
[ forget. You won’t believe a poor devil like me can 
have any gratitude, any disinterestedness left in him. 
j Never mind. I’ll go. I’ll leave it to you. I’ll send Dick 
I in here, and we shall see whether he’s such a fool as you 
\ think him.” 

j “ No,” said Paul, “ no ; I feel you’re right ; that 
i would never do.” 

I “ It would be for my advantage, I think,” said the 
i other ; but you had better take me while I am in a 
magnanimous mood ; the opportunity may never occur 
i again. Come, am I to help you or not ? Yes or no ?” 
f “ I must accept,” said Paul, reluctantly. “ I can’t 
I find Boaler now, and it might take hours to make him 
I see what I wanted. I’ll trust to your honor. What 
^ shall I do?” 

Do ? Get away from this ; he’ll be coming in here 
very soon to see me. Run away and play with the 
; children or hide in the china closet— anything but stay 
I here.” 

“ I — I must be here while you are managing him,” 
objected Paul. 

' 14 


314 


VICE versa. 


Nonsense ! ” said Paradine, angrily. “ I tell yon it 
will spoil all, unless you — who’s that ? it’s his step — too 
late now — dash it all ! Behind that screen, quick — 
don’t move for your life till I tell you you may come 
out ! ” ‘ 

Mr. Bultitude had no choice ; there was just time to 
set up an old folding screen which stood in a corner of 
the room and slip behind it before the door opened. 

It might not be the highest wisdom to trust every- 
thing to his new ally in this manner ; but what else 
could he do, except stand by in forced inactivity while 
the momentous duel was being fought out ? Just then, 
at all events, he saw no other course. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 


EUN TO EAETH. 

“ The is noon in this hous schuld bynde me this The Cole's Tale 

of Gamelyn, 

Dick burst open the door of the billiard-room rather 
suddenly, and then stood holding on to the handle and 
smiling down upon his relative in a happy and affection- 
ate but rather weak manner. 

“ So here you are ! ” he said. Been looking for 
you everywhere. What’s good of shutting ’self in here ? 
Come up and play gamesh. No ? Come in and have 
shupper. I’ve had shupper.” 

“So I perceive,” observed Uncle Marmaduke ; and 
the fact was certainly obvious enough. 

“ Tell y’ what I did,” giggled the wretched Dick. 
“You know I never did get what I call regular good 
blow out — always some one to shay ‘ had quite ’nough ’ 
’fore I’d begun. So I thought this time I would have a 
tuck-in till — till I felt tired, and I — he-he-he — I got 
down ’fore anybody elsh and helped myshelf. Had first 
go-in. Xo one to help to thingsh. hTo girlsh to bother. 
It was prime ! When they’ve all gone up again you and 
me ’ll go in and have shome more, eh ? ” 

“ You’re a model host,” said his uncle. 

“ It’s a good shupper,” Dick went on. “ I ought to 


816 


VICE VERSl. 


know. I’ve had some of everything. It’sh almost too 
good for kids. But it’sh a good thing I went in first. 
After I’d been in a little time I saw a sponge-cake on 
the table, and when I tried it, what d’ye think I found ? 
It was as full inside of brandy-an’-sherry as it could be. 
All it could do to shtand ! I saw d’rectly it washn’t in 
condition come to table, and I said : ‘ Take it away ! 
take it away ! It’sh drunk ; it’sh a dishgraceful sight 
for children ! ’ But they wouldn’t take it away ; sho I 
had to take it away. But you can’t take away a whole 
tipshy-cake ! ” 

‘‘I am quite sure you did your best,” murmured 
Paradine. 

Been having such gamesh up stairs ! ” said Dick, 
with another giggle. “ That liP Dolly Merridew’s jolly 
girl. Not sho nice as Dulcie, though. Why didn’ we 
invite Dulcie ? I wanted them to invite Dulcie. Here, 
you, let’sh go up and let off fireworksh on balcony, eh ? 
Let’sh have jolly lark ! ” 

‘‘ No, no,” said his uncle. You and I are too old 
for that sort of thing. You should leave the larks to 
the young fellows.” 

‘‘ How do you know I’m too old for sorterthing ? ” 
said Dick, with an offended air. 

‘‘Well, you’re not a young man any longer, you 
know. You ought to behave like the steady old buffer 
you look.” 

“ Why ? ” demanded Dick ; “ why should I behave 
like shteady ole buffer, when I don’ feel shteady ole 
buffer ? What do you want shpoil fun for ? Tell you 
I shall do jus’ zackly wharriplease. And, if you shay 
any more. I’ll punch y’ head ! ” 

“ No, no,” said his uncle, slightly alarmed at this in- 


RUN TO EARTH. 


317 


timation. Come, you’re not going to quarrel with 
me, I’m sure ! ” 

“All ri’,” said Dick. “ No ; I won’ quarrel. Don’ 
wanter quarrel anybody.” 

“ That’s right,” said Paradine. “ I knew you were 
a noble fellow ! ” 

“ Sho I am,” said Dick, shaking hands with elfusion. 
“ Sho are you. Nearly ash noble ’sh me. There, you’re 
jolly good fellow. I say. I’ve goo’ mind tell you some- 
thing. Make you laugh. But I won’t ; not now.” 

“ Oh, you can tell me,” said Marmaduke. “No se- 
crets between friends, you know.” 

“ Shan’t tell you now,” said Dick. “ Keep shecret 
little longer.” 

“ Do you know, my friend, that there’s something 
very odd about you I’ve noticed lately ! Something 
that makes me almost fancy sometimes you’re not what 
you pretend to be.” 

Dick sat down heavily on one of the leather benches 
placed against the wall. 

“ Eh, what shay ? ” he gasped. “ Say tharragain.” 

“ You look to me,” said Marmaduke, slowly, “ like 
some one excellently made up for the part of heavy 
father, without a notion how to play it. Dick, you 
young dog, you see I know you ! You can’t take me 
in with all this. You’d better tell me all about it.” 

Dick seemed almost sobered by this shock. 

“ You’ve found me out,” he repeated, dully. “ Then 
it’s all up. If you’ve found me out, everybody else 
can find me out ! ” 

“ No, no ; it’s not so bad as that, my boy. I’ve 
better eyes than most people, and then I had the privi- 
lege of knowing your excellent father rather well once 


818 


VICE VERSA. 


upon a time. You haven’t studied his little peculiari- 
ties closely enough ; but you’ll improve. By the way, 
where is your excellent father all this time ? ” 

“He’s all right,” said Dick, beginning to chuckle. 
“ He-he. He’s at school, he is ! ” 

“At school ! You mean to say you’ve put him to 
school at his time of his life ? He’s rather old for that 
sort of thing, isn’t he ? They don’t take him on the 
ordinary terms, do they ? ” 

“ Ah,” said Dick, “ that’sh where it is. He isn’t 
old, you see, now, to look at. I took care of all that.” 

“Not old to look at ! Then how on earth — I 
should like to know how you managed all that. What 
have you been doing to the poor old gentleman ? ” 

“ That’sh my affair,” said Dick. “ An’ if I don’ tell 
you, you won’ find that out, anyway.” 

“There’s only one way you could have done it,” 
said Paradine, pretending to hesitate. “ It must have 
been done by some meddling with magic. Now what — 
Let me . see — yes — Surely the stone I brought your 
poor mother from India was given to me as a talisman 
of some sort ? You surely can’t have been sharp enough 
to get hold of that ! ” 

“ How did you know ? ” cried Dick, sharply. “ Who 
told you ? ” 

“I am right, then? Well, you are a clever fellow. 
I should like to know how you did it, now ? ” 

“ Did it with the shtone,” said Dick, evidently dis- 
composed by such unexpected penetration, but unable 
to prevent a little natural complacency. “ All my own 
idea. No one helped me. It — it washn’t sho bad for 
me, wash it ? ” 

“ Bad ! it was capital,” cried Marmaduke, enthu- 


RUN TO EARTH. 


319 


siastically. “ It was a stroke of genius. And so my 
Indian stone has done all this for you. Sounds like an 
Arabian Night, by Jove ! By the by, you don’t hap- 
pen to have it about you, do you ? I should rather like 
to look at it again. It’s a real curiosity after this.” 

Paul trembled with anxiety. Would Dick be in- 
duced to part with it ? If so, he was saved. But Dick 
looked at his uncle’s outstretched hand, and wagged his 
head with tipsy cunning. 

“ I dareshay you would,” he said, ‘‘ but I’m not sho 
green as all that. Don’t let that stone out of my hands 
for any one.” 

“ Why, I only wanted to look at it for a minute or 
two,” said Marmaduke ; ‘‘ I wouldn’t hurt it or lose it.” 

“ You won’ get chance,” said Dick. 

Oh, very well,” said Paradine, carelessly, “ just as 
you i^lease, it doesn’t matter ; though, when we come to 
talk things over a little, you may find it better to trust 
me more than that.” 

“ Wha’ do you mean ? ” said Dick, uneasily. 

‘‘ Well, I’ll try to explain as well as I can, my boy 
(drink a little of this soda-water first ; it’s an excellent 
thing after supper) ; there, you’re better now, aren’t 
you ? Now, I’ve found you out, as you see ; but only 
because I knew something of the powers of this stone 
of yours, and guessed the rest. It doesn’t at all follow 
that other people, who know nothing at all, will be as 
sharp ; if you’re more careful about your behavior in 
future — unless, unless, young fellow — ” and here he 
paused meaningly. 

“ Unless what ? ” asked Dick, suspiciously. 

‘‘Unless I chose to tell them what I’ve found out.” 

“ What would you tell them ? ” said Dick. 


320 


VICE YERSl. 


“ What ? Why, what I know of this talisman ; tell 
them to use their eyes ; they wouldn’t he very long 
before they found out that something was wrong. And 
when one or two of your father’s friends once get hold 
of the idea, your game will be very soon over ; you 
know that as well as I do.” 

“ But,” stammered Dick, ‘‘ you wouldn’t go and do 
beastly mean thing like that ? I’ve not been bad fellow 
to you.” 

‘‘ The meanness, my dear boy, depends entirely upon 
the view you take of it. Now, the question with me, 
as a man of honor — and I may tell you an over-nice 
sense of honor has been a drawback I’ve had to strug- 
gle against all my life — the question with me is this : 
Is it not my plain duty to step in and put a stop to this 
topsy-turvy state of things, to show you up as the bare- 
faced young impostor you are, and restore my unhappy 
brother-in-law to his proper position ? ” 

“ Yery well expressed,” thought Paul, who had been 
getting uncomfortable ; he has a heart, as he said, 
after all ! ” 

“ How does that seem to strike you ? ” added Para- 
dine. 

“ It shtrikes me as awful rot,” said Dick, with re- 
freshing candor. 

‘‘ It’s the language of conscience, but I don’t expect 
you to see it in the same light. I don’t mind confess- 
ing to you, either, that I’m a poor devil to whom money 
and a safe and respectable position (all of which I have 
here) are great considerations. But whenever I see 
the finger of duty and honor, and family affection, all 
beckoning me along a particular road, I make a point 
of obeying their monitions — occasionally. I don’t 


RUN TO EARTH. 


321 


mean to say that I never have bolted down a back way, 
instead, when it was made worth my while, or that I 
never will. 

“I wonder what he’s driving at now,” thought 
Paul. 

‘‘ I don’t know about duty and honor, and all that,” 
said Dick. ‘‘ My head aches ; it’s the noise they’re 
making up stairs. Are you goin’ to tell ? ” 

‘‘ The fact is, my dear boy, that when one has had 
a keen sense of honor in constant use for several years, 
it’s like most other articles — apt to become a little the 
worse for wear. Mine is not what it used to be, Dicky 
(that’s your name, isn’t it?). Our powers fail as we 
grow old.” 

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about ! ” said 
Dick, helplessly. “ Do tell me what you mean to do ? ” 

‘^Well, then, your head’s clear enough to under- 
stand this much, I hope,” said Paradine, a little impa- 
tiently : “ that, if I did my duty and exposed you, you 
wouldn’t be able to keep up the farce for a single hour, 
in spite of all your personal advantages; you know that, 
don’t you ? ” 

‘‘I shpose I know that,” said Dick, feebly. 

“ You know, too, that if I could be induced — mind, 
I don’t say I can — to hold my tongue, and stay on here 
and look after you, and keep you from betraying your- 
self by any more of these schoolboy follies, there’s not 
much fear that any one else will ever find out the 
secret — ” 

Which are you going to do, then ? ” said Dick. 

Suppose I say that I like you, that you have shown 
me more kindness in a single week than ever your re- 
spectable father has since I first made his acquaintance. 


322 


VICE VEESl. 


Suppose I say that I am willing to let the sense of 
honor and duty, and all the rest of it, go overboard to- 
gether ; that we two together are a match for papa, 
wherever he may be, and whatever he chooses to say 
and do?” 

There was a veiled defiance in his voice that seemed 
meant for more than Dick, and alarmed Mr. Bultitude ; 
however, he tried to calm his uneasiness, and persuade 
himself that it was part of the plot. 

“ Will you say that ? ” cried Dick, excitedly. 

‘‘ On one condition, which I’ll tell you by and by. 
Yes, I’ll stand by you, my boy; I’ll coach you till I 
make you a man of business every bit as good as your 
father, and a much better man of the world. I’ll show 
you how to realize a colossal fortune, if you only take 
my advice. And we’ll pack papa off to some place 
abroad where he’ll have no holidays and give no 
trouble.” 

“ISTo,” said Dick, firmly ; “ I won’t have that. After 
all, he’s my governor.” 

“ Do what you like with him, then ; he can’t do 
much harm. I tell you. I’ll do all this, on one condition 
— it’s a very simple one — ” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Dick. 

“This. You have, somewhere or other, the Stone 
that has done all this for you — you may have it about 
you at this very moment — ah ! ” (as Dick made a sudden 
movement toward his white waistcoat) “ I thought so ! 
Well, I want that Stone. You were afraid to leave it 
in my hands for a minute or two just now ; you must 
trust me with it altogether.” 

Paul was relieved ; of course this was merely an 
artifice to recover the Garuda Stone, and Marmaduke 


RUN TO EARTH. 


323 

was not playing him false after all ; he waited breath- 
lessly for Dick’s answer. 

‘‘No,” said Dick, “I can’t do that ; I want it, too.” 

“ Why, man, what use is it to you ? It only gives 
you one wish ; you can’t use it again.” 

Dick mumbled something about his being ill, and 
Barbara wishing him well again. 

“ I suppose I can do that as well as Barbara,” said 
his uncle. “ Come, don’t be obstinate ; give me the 
Stone ; it’s very important that it should be in safe 
hands.” 

“ No,” said Dick, obstinately ; he was fumbling all 
the time irresolutely in his pockets ; “ I mean to keep 
it myself.” 

“ Very well, then, I have done with you. To-morrow 
morning I shall step up to Mincing Lane, and then to 
your father’s solicitor. I think his offices are in Bedford 
Row, but I can easily find out at your father’s place. 
After that, young man, you’ll have a very short time to 
amuse yourself in, so make the best of it.” 

“No, don’t leave me; let me alone for a minute,” 
pleaded Dick, still fumbling. 

At this a sudden suspicion of his brother-in-law’s 
motives for wishing to get the Stone into his own hands 
overcame all Paul’s prudence. If he was so clever in 
deceiving Dick, might he not be cheating him, too, just 
as completely? He could wait no longer, but burst 
from behind the screen and rushed in between the pair. 

“ Go back ! ” screamed Paradine. “ You infernal old 
idiot, you’ve ruined everything ! ” 

“ I won’t go back,” said Paul. “ I don’t believe in 
you. I’ll hide no longer. Dick, I forbid you to trust 
that man.” 


324 


VICE YERSl. 


Dick had risen in horror at the sudden apparition, 
and staggered back against the wall, where he stood 
staring stupidly at his unfortunate father with fixed and 
vacant eyes. 

‘‘ Badly as you’ve treated me, I’d rather trust you 
than that shifty, plausible fellow there. Just look at 
me, Dick, and then say if you can let this cruelty go on. 
If you knew all I’ve suffered since I have been among 
those infernal boys, you would pity me, you would in- 
deed. ... If you send me back there again, it will kill 
me. . . . You know as well as I do that it is worse for 
me than ever it could be for you. . . . You can’t really 
justify yourself because of a thoughtless wish of mine, 
spoken without the least intention of being taken at my 
word. Dick, I may not have shown as much affection 
for you as I might have done, but I don’t think I de- 
serve all this. Be generous with me now, and I swear 
you will never regret it.” 

Dick’s lips moved ; there really was something like 
pity and repentance in his face, muddled and dazed as 
his general expression was by his recent over-indulgence, 
but he said nothing. 

“ Give papa the Stone by all means,” sneered Para- 
dine. ‘‘ If you do, he will find some one to wish the 
pair of you back again, and then, back you go to school 
again, the laughing-stock of everybody, you silly young 
cub ! ” 

“Don’t listen to him, Dick,” urged Paul. “Give 
it to me, for heaven’s sake ; if you let him have it, he’ll 
use it to ruin us all.” 

But Dick turned his white face to the rival claim- 
ants, and said, getting the words out with difficulty : 
“ Papa, I’m shorry. It is a shame. If I had the Shtone, 


RUN TO EARTH. 


325 


I really would give it you, upon my word-an’-honor I 
would. But — but, now I can’t ever give it up to you. 
It’sb gone. Losbt ! ” 

Lost ! ” cried Marmaduke. “ When, where ? When 
do you last recollect seeing it ? You must know.” 

“In the morning,” said Dick, twirling his chain, 
where part of the cheap gilt fastening still hung. 

“ No ; afternoon. I don’t know,” he added, help- 
lessly. 

Paul sank down on a chair with a heart-broken groan. 
A moment ago he had felt himself very near his goal ; he 
had regained something of his old influence over Dick ; 
he had actually managed to touch his heart — and now 
it was all in vain ! 

Paradine’s jaw fell ; he, too, had had his dreams of 
doing wonderful things with the talisman after he had 
cajoled Dick to part with it. Whether the restoration 
of his brother-in-law formed any part of his programme, 
it is better, perhaps, not to inquire. His dreams were 
scattered now ; the Stone might be anywhere — buried 
in London mud, lying on railway ballast, or ground to 
powder by cart-wheels. There was little chance, indeed, 
that even the most liberal rewards would lead to dis- 
covery. He swore long and comprehensively. 

As for Mr. Bultitude, he sat motionless in his chair, 
staring in dull, speechless reproach at the conscience- 
stricken Dick, who stood in the corner blinking and 
whimpering with an abject penitence, odd and painful 
to see in one of his portly form. The children had now 
apparently finished supper, for there were sounds above 
as of dancing, and “ Sir Roger de Coverley,” with its 
rollicking, never - wearying repetition, was distinctly 
audible above the din and laughter. Once before — a 


326 


VICE VERSA. 


week ago that very day — had that heartless piano 
mocked him with its untimely gayety. 

But things were not at their worst even yet, for, 
while they sat like this, there was a sharp, short peal at 
the house-bell, followed by loud and rather angry 
knocking, for, carriages being no longer expected, the 
servants and waiters had now closed the front-door, and 
left the passage for the supper-room. 

The visitors’ bell ! ” cried Paul, roused from his 
apathy ; and he rushed to the window which com- 
manded a side-view of the portico : it might be only a 
servant calling for one of the children, but he feared 
the worst, and could not rest till he knew it. 

It was a rash thing to do, for, as he drew the blind, 
he saw a large person in a heavy Inverness cloak stand- 
ing on the steps, and (which was worse) the person saw 
him and recognized him. 

With fascinated horror, Mr. Bultitude saw the doc- 
tor’s small gray eyes fixed angrily on him, and knew 
that he was hunted down at last. 

He turned to the other two with a sort of ghastly 
composure: “It’s all over now,” he said. “I’ve just 
seen Dr. Grimstone standing on my door-step ; he has 
come after me.” 

Uncle Marmaduke gave a malicious little laughs 
“I’m sorry for you, my friend,” he said, “but I really 
can’t help it.” 

“You can,” said Paul ; “you can tell him what you 
know. You can save me.” 

“Very poor economy that,” said Marmaduke, airily. 
“ I prefer spending to saving — always did. I have my 
own interests to consider, my dear Paul.” 

“ Dick,” said poor Mr. Bultitude, disgusted at this 


RUN TO EARTE. 


327 


exhibition of selfishness, you said you were sorry just 
now. Will you tell him the truth ? ” 

But Dick was quite unnerved ; he cowered away, 
almost crying. “ I daren’t, I daren’t,” he stammered ; 
“ I — I can’t go back to the fellows like this. I’m afraid 
to tell him. I — I wan’t to hide somewhere.” 

And certainly he was in no condition to convince an 
angry schoolmaster of anything whatever, except that 
he was in a state very unbecoming to the head of a 
family. 

It was all over ; Paul saw that too well ; he dashed 
frantically from the fatal billiard-room, and in the hall 
met Boaler preparing to admit the visitor. 

“ Don’t open the door ! ” he screamed. “ Keep him 
out, you mustn’t let him in. It’s Dr. Grimstone.” 

Boaler, surprised as he naturally was at his young 
master’s unaccountable appearance and evident panic, 
nevertheless never moved a muscle of his face ; he was 
one of those perfectly bred servants who, if they chanced 
j to open the door to a ghoul or skeleton, would merely 
inquire, “ What name, if you please ? ” 

“ I must go and ask your par, then. Master Dick ; 
there’s time to ’ook it up stairs while I’m gone. I won’t 
say nothing,” he added, compassionately. 

' Paul lost no time in following this suggestion, but 
' rushed up stairs, two or three steps at the time, stum- 
I bling at every flight, with a hideous nightmare feeling 
i that some invisible thing behind was trying to trip up 
his heels. 

? He rushed blindly past the conservatory, which was 
I lit up by Chinese lanterns, and crowded with little 
I Kate Greenaway ” maidens crowned with fantastic head- 
! dresses out of the crackers, and comparing presents with 


328 


VICE VERSl. 


boy-lovers; be upset perspiring waiters with glasses and 
trays, and scattered the children sitting on the stairs, as 
he bounded on in his reckless flight, leaving crashes of 
glass behind him. 

He had no clear idea of what he meant to do ; he 
thought of barricading himself in his bedroom and hid- 
ing in the wardrobe ; he had desperate notions of get- 
ting on to the housetop by means of a step-ladder and 
the skylight above the nursery landing ; on one point 
he was resolved — he would not be retaken alive ! 

Never before in this commonplace London world of 
ours was an unfortunate householder hunted up his own 
staircase in this distressing manner ; even his terror did 
not blind him to the extreme ignominy and injustice of 
his position. 

And below he heard the bell ringing more and more 
impatiently, as the doctor still remained on the wrong 
side of the door. In another minute he must be admit- 
ted — and then ! 

Who will not sympathize with Mr. Bultitude as he 
approaches the crisis of his misfortunes ? I protest, for 
my own part, that, as I am compelled to describe him 
springing from step to step in wild terror, like a highly 
respectable chamois before some Alpine marksman, my 
own heart bleeds for him, and I hasten to end my dis- 
tressing tale, and make the rest of it as little painful as 
I may with honesty. 


i CHAPTER XIX. 

THE EECKOOTNG. 

“ Montr. The father is victorious. 

Beuf. Let us haste 

To gratulate his conquest. 

1st Capt. "We to mourn 

i The fortune of the son.” 

Massinger, The Unnatural Combat. 

Poor Mr. Bultitude, springing wildly up stairs in a 
\ last desperate effort to avoid capture, had now almost 
: reached his goal. Just above him was the nursery 
landing, with its little wooden gate, and near it, leaning 
against the wall, was the pair of kitchen steps, with 
which he had hopes of reaching the roof, or the cistern 
loft, or some other safe and inaccessible place. Better 
[ a night spent on the slates among the chimney-pots than 
I a bed in that terrible No. 6 Dormitory. 

' But here, too, fate was against him. He was not 
more than half a dozen steps from the top when, to his 
unspeakable horror, he saw a small form in a white 
frock and cardinal-red sash come running out of the 
nursery, and begin to descend slowly and cautiously, 
clinging to the banisters with one chubby little hand. 

It was his youngest son. Roly, and as soon as he saw 
I this he lost hope once and for all ; he could not escape 
’ being recognized ; the child would probably refuse to 


330 


VICE VEESl. 


leave him, and, even if he did contrive to get away from 
him, it would be hopeless to make Roly understand that 
he was not to betray his hiding-place. 

So he stopped on the stairs, aghast at this new mis- 
fortune, and feeling himself at the end of all his re- 
sources. Roly knew him at once, and began to dance 
delightedly up and down on the stair in his little bronze 
shoes. “ Buzzer Dicky,” he cried, “ dear buzzer Dicky^ 
turn ’ome to party ! ” 

It’s not brother Dicky,” said Paul, miserably ; “ it’s 
all a mistake.” 

“ Oh, but it is, though,” said Roly ; and you don’t 
know what Roly’s found.” 

“ No, no,” said Paul, trying to pass (which, as Roly 
persisted in leaping joyously from side to side of the 
narrow stair, was difficult) ; “you shall show me 
another time. I’m in a hurry, my boy ; I’ve got an ap- 
pointment.” 

“ Roly’s got something better than that,” observed 
the child. 

Mr. Bultitude, in spite of his terror, was too much 
afraid of hurting him by brushing roughly past to at- 
tempt such a thing, so he tried diplomacy. “ W ell, 
what has Roly found, a cracker ? ” 

“No, no, better than a cwacker — you guess.” 

“ I can’t guess,” said Paul ; “ never mind, I don’t 
want to know.” 

“Well, then,” said Roly, “there.” And he slowly 
unclosed a fat little fist, and in it Paul saw, with a re- 
vulsion of feeling that turned him dizzy and faint, the 
priceless talisman itself, the identical Garudd Stone, 
with part of the frail gilt ring still attached to it. 

The fastening had probably given way during Mas- 


THE HECKONlNa. 


331 


ter Dick’s uproarious revels in the drawing-room, and 
Roly must have picked it up on the carpet shortly after- 
ward. 

Isn’t it a pitty sing ? ” said Roly, insisting that his 
treasure should he duly admired. 

‘‘ A very pretty thing,” said his father, hoarse and 
panting ; “but it’s mine, Roly, it’s mine.” 

And he tried to snatch it, but Roly closed his fist 
over it and pouted. “It isn’t yours,” he said, “it’s 
Roly’s. Roly found it.” 

Paul’s fears rose again ; would he he wrecked in 
port, after all ? His ear, unnaturally strained, caught 
the sound of the front-door being opened ; he heard the 
[ doctor’s deep voice booming faintly below, then the 
I noise of persons ascending. 

“ Roly shall have it, then,” he said, perfidiously, “if 
\ he will say after me what I tell him. Say, ‘ I wish papa 
j and brother Dick back as they were before,’ Roly.” 

“ Ith it a game ? ” asked Roly, his face clearing and 
evidently delighted with his eccentric brother Dick, 
who had run all the way home from school to play games 
with him on the staircase. 

“ No — yes ! ” cried Paul, “ it’s a very funny game ; 
only do what I tell you. Now say, ‘ I wish papa and 
brother Dick back again as they were before.’ I’ll give 
you a sugar-plum if you say it nicely.” 

“What sort of sugar-plum?” demanded Roly, who 
inherited business instincts. 

“ Any sort you like best,” almost shrieked Paul ; 
“oh, do get on.” 

“Lots of sugar-plums, then. ‘I with’ — I forget 
what you told me — oh, ‘ I with papa and — ’ there’th 
thomebody tumming up sthairs! ” he broke olf suddenly ; 


332 VICE VERSA. 

“ it’h nurtR tummin to put me to bed. I don’t want to 
go to bed yet.” 

‘‘And you shan’t go to bed ! ” cried Paul, for he too 
thought he heard some one. “ Never mind nurse ; finish 
the — ^the game.” 

— “ ‘ Papa and buzzy Dicky back again as — as they 
were before,’ ” repeated Roly at last. “ What a funny — 
ow, ow, it’h papa ! it’h papa ! and he told me it watb 
Dicky. I’m afraid. Whereth Dicky gone to ? I want 
Bab, take me to Bab.” 

For the Stone had done its work once more, and this 
time with happier results ; with a supreme relief and 
joy, which no one who has read this book can fail to 
understand, Mr. Bultitude felt that he actually was his 
old self again. 

Just when all hope seemed cut off and relief was 
most unlikely, the magic spell that had caused him such 
intolerable misery for one hideous week was reversed 
by the hand of his innocent child. 

He caught Roly up in his arms and kissed him as he 
had never been kissed in his whole life before, at least 
by his father, and comforting him as well as he could, 
for the poor child had naturally received rather a severe 
shock, he stepped airily down the staircase, which he had 
mounted with such different emotions five minutes before. 

On his way he could not resist going into his dress- 
ing-room and assuring himself by a prolonged examina- 
tion before the cheval-glass that the stone had not 
played him some last piece of jugglery ; but he found 
everything quite correct ; he was the same formal, pre- 
cise and portly old gentleman, wearing the same morn- 
ing dress even as on that other Monday evening, and 
he went on with greater confidence. 


THE RECKONINH. 


333 


i He took care, however, to stop at the first window, 
when he managed, after some coaxing, to persuade Roly 
to give up the Garuda Stone. As soon as he had it in 
! his hands again, he opened the window wide and flung 
i the dangerous talisman far out into the darkness. Hot 
I till then did he feel perfectly secure. 

He passed the groups of little guests gathered about 
the conservatory, and lower down he met Boaler, the 
nurse, and one or two servants and waiters, rushing up 
in a state of great anxiety and flurry ; even Boaler’s 
usual composure seemed shaken. “Please, sir,” he 
asked, “ the schoolmaster gentleman. Master Dick — 
he’ve run up stairs ; haven’t you seen him ? ” 

Paul had almost forgotten Dick in his new happi- 
ness ; there would be a heavy score to settle with him ; 
he had the upper hand once more, and yet, somehow, 
ihe did not feel as much righteous wrath and desire for 
'revenge as he expected to do. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” he said, waving them back 
iwith more benignity than they thought he had in him. 
“Master Dick is safe enough. I know all about it. 
Where is Dr. Grimstone? In the library, eh? very 
well, I will see him there.” 

And, leaving Roly with the nurse, he went down to 
■the library ; not, if the truth must be told, without a 
slight degree of nervousness, unreasonable and unac- 
countable enough now, but quite beyond his power to 
control. 

He entered the room, and there, surrounded by 
piles of ticketed hats and coats, under the pale light 
of one gas-burner, he saw the terrible man before 
whom he had trembled for the last seven horrible 


334 


VICE versa. 


A feeling of self-defense made Paul assume rather 
more than his old stiffness as he shook hands. ‘‘ I am 
very glad to see you, Dr. Grimstone,” he said, “but 
your coming at this time forces me to ask if there is 
any unusual reason for — for my having the — a — pleasure 
of seeing you here ? ” 

“ I am exceedingly distressed to have to say that 
there is,” said the doctor, solemnly, “or I should not 
have troubled you at this hour. Try to compose your- 
self, my dear sir, to bear this blow.” 

“ I will,” said Paul, “ I will try.” 

“ The fact is, then, and I know how sad a story it 
must be for a parent’s ear, but the fact is, that your un- 
happy boy has had the inconceivable rashness to quit 
my roof.” And the doctor paused to watch the effect 
of his announcement. 

“ God bless my soul ! ” cried Paul. “ You don't 
say so ! ” 

“ I do indeed ; he has, in short, run away. But 
don’t be alarmed, my dear Mr. Bultitude ; I think I can 
assure you he is quite safe at the present moment” 
(“ Thank heaven, he is ! ” thought Paul, thinking of 
his own marvelous escape). “ I should certainly have 
recaptured him before he could have left the railway 
station, where he seems to have gone at once, only, act- 
ing on information (which I strongly suspect now was 
intentionally misleading), I drove on to the station on 
the up-line, thinking to find him there. He was not 
there, sir ; I believe he never went there at all ; but, 
guessing how matters were, I searched the train, car- 
riage by carriage, compartment by compartment, when 
it came up.” 

“I am very sorry you should have had so much 


THE RECKONING. 


335 


trouble,” said Paul, with a vivid recollection of the ex- 
ploring stick ; “ and so you found him ? ” 

“ No, sir,” said the doctor, passionately, “ I did not 
find him, but he was there ; he must have been there ! 
but the shameless connivance of two excessively ill-bred 
persons, who positively refused to allow me access to 
their compartment, caused him to slip through my 
fingers.” 

Mr. Bultitude observed, rather ungratefully, that, 
if this was so, it was a most improper thing for them 
to do. 

“ It was, indeed, but it is of no consequence, fortu- 
nately. I was forced to wait for the next train ; but 
that was not a very slow one, and so I was able to come 
on here before a very late hour and acquaint you with 
what had taken place.” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Paul. 

‘‘ It’s a painful thing to occur in a school,” observed 
the doctor, after a pause. 

“ Most unfortunate,” agreed Paul, coughing. 

“ So apt to lead persons who are not acquainted with 
the facts to imagine that the boy was unhappy under 
my care,” continued the doctor. 

In this case, I assure you, I have no doubts,” pro- 
tested Paul with politeness and (seldom a possible com- 
bination) perfect truth. 

“Very kind of you to say so; really, it’s a great 
mystery to me. I certainly, as I felt it my duty to in- 
form you at the time, came very near inflicting corporal 
punisWent upon him this morning — very near. But 
then he was pardoned on your intercession ; and, be- 
sides, the boy would never have run away for fear of a 
flogging.” 


336 


VICE VERSl. 


Oh, no, perfectly absurd ! ” agreed Paul again. 

‘‘ Such a merry, high-spirited lad, too,” said the doc- 
tor, sincerely enough ; ‘‘ popular with his schoolfellows ; 
a favorite (in spite of his faults) with his teachers.” 

“ Ko, was he though ? ” said Paul, with more sur- 
prise, for he had not been fortunate enough to reap 
much vicarious benefit from his son’s popularity, as he 
could not help remembering. 

All this, added to the comforts (or, may I say, the 
luxuries ?) he enjoyed under my supervision, does make 
it seem very strange and ungrateful in the boy to take 
this sudden and ill-considered step.” 

“ Very, indeed ; but do you know. Dr, Grimstone, I 
can’t help thinking — and pray do not misunderstand me 
if I speak plainly — that, perhaps, he had reasons for be- 
ing unhappy you can have no idea of ? ” 

“ He would have found me ready to hear any com- 
plaints and prompt to redress them, sir,” said the doc- 
tor. ‘‘ But, now I think of it, he certainly did appear 
to have something on his mind which he wished to tell 
me ; but his manner was so strange, and he so persist- 
ently refused to come to the point, that I was forced to 
discourage him at last.” 

You did discourage him, indeed ! ” said Paul, in- 
wardly, thinking of those attempted confidences with a 
shudder. ‘‘ Perhaps some of his schoolfellows may 
have — eh ? ” he said aloud. 

“ My dear sir,” exclaimed the doctor, “ quite out of 
the question ! ” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said Paul, not being able to 
resist the suggestion. “And yet, do you know, some 
of them did not appear to me to look very — very good- 
natured, now.” 


THE RECKONING. 


337 


“A more manly, pleasant, and gentlemanly set of 
youths never breathed ! ” said the doctor, taking up 
the cudgels for his boys, and, to do him justice, prob- 
ably with full measure of belief in his statement. 
“Curious now that they should have struck you so 
differently ! ” 

“ They certainly did strike me very differently,” 
said Paul. “ But I may be mistaken.” 

“ You are, my dear sir. And, pardon me, but you 
had no opportunity of testing your opinion.” 

“ Oh, pardon me,” retorted Paul, grimly, “ I had 
indeed ! ” 

“A cursory visit,” said the doctor, “a formal in- 
spection — you can not fairly judge boys by that. They 
will naturally be reserved and constrained in the pres- 
ence of an elder. But you should observe them without 
their knowledge — you want to know them, my dear Mr. 
Bultitude, you want to go among them ! ” 

It was the very last thing Paul did want — he knew 
them quite well enough ; but it was of no use to say so, 
and he merely assented politely. 

“ And now,” said the doctor, “ with regard to your 
misguided boy. I have to tell you that he is here, in 
this very house. I tracked him here, and, ten minutes 
ago, saw him with my own eyes at one of your windows.” 

“ Here ! ” cried Paul, with a well-executed start ; 
“ you astonish me ! ” 

“ It has occurred to me within the last minute,” said 
the doctor, “ that there may be a very simple explana- 
tion of his flight. I observe you are giving a— a juvenile 
entertainment on a large scale.” 

“I suppose I am,” Paul admitted. “And so you 
think—?” 


15 


338 


VICE VEESl. 


‘‘ I think that your son, who doubtless knew of your 
intention, was hurt at being excluded from the festivi- 
ties, and, in a fit of mad, willful folly, resolved to be 
present at them in spite of you.” 

“My dear doctor,” cried Paul, who saw the con- 
veniences of this theory, “ that must be it, of course — 
that explains it all ! ” 

“ So grave an act of insubordination,” said the doc- 
tor, “ an act of double disobedience — to your authority 
and mine — deserves the fullest punishment. You agree 
with me, I trust ? ” 

The memory of his wrongs overcame Mr. Bultitude 
for the moment. “Nothing can be too bad for the little 
scoundrel ! ” he said, between his teeth. 

“ He shall have it, sir, I swear to you ; he shall be 
made to repent this as long as he lives. This insult 
to me (and, of course, to you also) shall be amply atoned 
for. If you will have the goodness to deliver him over 
to my hands, I will carry him back at once to Rod well 
Regis, and to-morrow, sir, to-morrow, I will endeavor 
to awaken his conscience in a way he will remember ! ” 

The doctor was more angry than an impartial lover 
of justice might perhaps approve of, but then it must 
be remembered that he had seen himself completely 
outwitted and his authority set at naught in a very hu- 
miliating fashion. 

However, his excessive wrath cooled Paul’s own re- 
sentment instead of inflaming it ; it made him reflect 
that, after all, it was he who had the best right to be 
angry. 

“Well,” he said, rather coldly, “we must find him 
first, and then consider what shall be done to him. If 
you will allow me I will ring and — ” 


THE RECKONING. 


339 


But before be could lay bis band upon tbe bell tbe 
library door opened, and Uncle Marmaduke made bis 
appearance, dragging witb bim tbe unwilling Dick ; tbe 
unfortunate boy was effectually sobered now, pale and 
trembling and besmirched witb coal-dust — in fact, in 
very much tbe same plight as his ill-used father bad 
been in only three hours ago. 

There was a brazen smile of triumph on Mr. Para- 
dine’s face as be met Paul’s eyes witb a knowing wink, 
which tbe latter did not at all understand. 

Such audacity astonished bim, for be could hardly 
believe that Paradine, after bis perfidious conduct in 
the billiard-room, could have tbe clumsy impudence to 
try to propitiate bim now. 

“ Here be is, my boy,” shouted Paradine ; “ here’s 
tbe scamp who has given us all this trouble. He came 
into tbe billiard-room just now and told me who be was, 
but I would have nothing to do witb bim, of course. 
Hot my business, as I told bim at tbe time. Then (I 
think I have tbe pleasure of seeing Dr. Grimstone ? just 
go) — well, then you, sir, arrived — and be made himself 
scarce. But when I saw bim in tbe act of making a 
bolt up tbe area, where he bad been taking shelter ap- 
parently in tbe coal-cellar, I thought it was time to in- 
terfere, and so I collared bim. I have much pleasure in 
banding bim over now to tbe proper authorities.” 

And, letting Dick go, he advanced toward bis 
brother-in-law, still witb tbe same odd expression of 
having a secret understanding witb bim, which made 
Paul’s blood boil. 

Stand where you are, sir,” said Paul to bis son. 
‘‘ Ho, Dr. Grimstone, allow me — leave bim to me for tbe 
present, please.” 


340 


VICE versa. 


That’s much better,” whispered Paradine, approv- 
ingly ; “ capital. Keep it up, my boy ; keep it up ! 
Papa’s as quiet as a lamb now. Go on.” 

Then Paul understood ; his worthy brother-in-law 
had not been present at the last transformation, and 
was under a slight misapprehension : he evidently im- 
agined that he had by this last stroke made himself and . 
Dick masters of the situation ; it was time to undeceive 
him. 

“ Have the goodness to leave my house at once, will 
you ! ” he said, sternly. 

“You young fool!” said Marmaduke, under his 
breath, “ after all I have done for you, too ! Is this 
your gratitude ? You know you can’t get on without 
me. Take care what you’re about.” 

“ If you can’t see that the tables are turned at last,” 
said Paul, slowly, “ you’re a duller knave than I take 
you to be.” 

Marmaduke started back with an oath. “It’s a 
trick,” he said, savagely ; “ you want to get rid of me.” * 
“ I certainly intend to,” said Paul. “ Are you satis- 
fied ? Do you want proofs — shall I give them — I did I 
just now in the billiard-room ? ” 

Paradine went to Dick and shook him angrily, j 
“You young idiot ! ” he said, in a furious aside, “why 
didn’t you tell me ? Why did you let me make a fool 
of myself like this for, eh ? ” 

“ I did tell you,” muttered Dick, “ only you wouldn’t 
listen. It just serves you right ! ” 

Marmaduke soon collected himself after this unex- 
pected shock ; he tried to shake Paul’s hands with an 
airy geniality. “ Only my little joke,” he said, laugh- 
ing ; “ ha, ha, I thought I should take you in ! . . . 


THE RECKONING. 


311 


Why, I knew it directly. . . . I’ve been working for 
you all the time — but it wouldn’t have done to let you 
see my line.” 

“No,” said Paul ; “it was not a very straight one, 
as usual.” 

“ Well,” said Marmaduke, “ I shouldn’t have stopped 
Master Dick there if I hadn’t been on your side, should 
I now ? I knew you’d come out of it all right, but I 
had a difficult game to play, don’t you know ? I don’t 
wonder that you didn’t follow me just at first.” 

“ You’ve lost your game,” said Paul ; “ it’s no use to 
say any more. So now, perhaps, you'll go ? ” 

“Go, eh?” said Paradine, without showing much 
surprise at the failure of so very forlorn a hoi^e ; “ oh, 
very well, just as you please, of course. Let your poor 
wife’s only brother go from your doors without a penny 
in the world ; but I warn you that a trifle or so laid out 
in stopping my mouth would not be thrown away. 
Some editors would be glad enough of a sensation from 
real life just now, and I could tell some very odd tales 
about this little affair ! ” 

“ Tell them, if a character for sanity is of no further 
use to you,” said Paul. “ Tell them to any one you 
can get to believe you — tell the crossing-sweeper and 
the policemen, tell your grandmother, tell the horse- 
marines — it will amuse them. Only, you shall tell 
them on the other side of my front door. Shall I call 
any one to show you out ? ” 

Paradine saw his game was really played out, and 
swaggered insolently to the door. “ Not on my account, 
I beg,” he said. “ Good-by, Paul, my boy ; no more dis- 
solving views ! Good-by, my young friend Richard ; it 
was good fun while it lasted, eh? like the Servian 


342 


VICE VERSl. 


crown — always a pleasant reminiscence I Good-evening 
to you, doctor. By the way, for educational purposes 
let me recommend a ‘ Penang lawyer ’ — buy one as you 
go back for the boys — to show them you’ve been think- 
ing of them ! ” 

And, having little luggage to impede him, the front 
door closed upon him shortly afterward — this time for 
ever. 

When he had gone, Dick looked imploringly at his 
father, and then at the doctor, who, until Paradine’s 
parting words had lashed him into fury again, had been 
examining the engravings on the walls with a studied 
delicacy during the recent painful scene, and was now 
leaning against the chimney-piece, with his arms folded 
and a sepulchral gloom on his brow. 

“ Pichard,” said Mr. Bultitude, in answer to the look, 
“ you have not done much to deserve consideration at 
my hands.” 

“ Or at mine ! ” added the doctor, ominously. 

“ No,” said Dick, I know I haven’t. Pve been a 
brute. I deserve a jolly good licking.” 

“ You do,” said his father, but, in spite of his indig- 
nation, the broken-down look of the boy and the mem- 
ory of his own sensations when waiting to be caned that 
morning, moved him to pity. And then Dick had 
shown some compunction in the billiard-room : he was 
not entirely lost to feeling ! 

“ Well,” he said, at last, you’ve acted very wrong- 
ly. Because I thought it best that you should not — 
ahem — leave your studies for this party, you chose to 
disobey me and alarm your master, by defying my 
orders and coming home by stealth — that was your 
object, I presume ? ” 


THE RECKONING. 


343 


“Y — yes,” said Dick, looking rather puzzled, but 
seeing that be was expected to agree ; “ that was it.” 

“ You know as well as I do wbat good cause I have 
to be angry ; but, if I consent to overlook your conduct 
tbis time, if I ask Dr. Grimstone to overlook it, too ” 
(tbe doctor made an inarticulate protest, while Dick 
stared, incredulous), will you undertake to behave 
better for tbe future — will you ? ” 

Dick’s voice broke at tbis, and bis eyes swam — be 
was effectually conquered. ‘‘ Ob, I will ! ” be cried, ‘‘ I 
will, really. I never meant to go so far when I be- 
gan.” 

“ Then, Dr. Grimstone,” said Paul, you will do me 
a great favor if you will take no further notice of tbis. 
You see tbe boy is sorry, and I am sure be will apologize 
to you amply for tbe grave slight be has done you. And, 
by tbe way — I should have mentioned it before — but be 
will have to leave your care at tbe end of tbe term for 
a public school — I intend to send him to Harrow — so be 
will require some additional preparation, perhaps : I 
may leave that in your bands ? ” 

Dr. Grimstone looked deeply offended, but be only 
said, ‘‘ I will see to that myself, my dear sir. I am 
sorry you did not tell me tbis earlier. But, may I sug- 
gest that a large public school has its pitfalls for a boy 
of your son’s disposition. And I trust tbis leniency may 
not have evil consequences, but I doubt it — I greatly 
doubt it.” 

As for Dick, be ran to bis father and bung grate- 
fully on to bis arm with a remorseful bug, a thing he 
bad never dared to do, or thought of attempting, in bis 
life till then. 

“ Papa,” be said, in a choked voice, “ you’re a brick ! 


344 VICE VEESA. 

I don’t deserve any of it, but I’ll never forget this as 
long as I live.” 

Mr. Bultitude, too, felt something spring up in liis 
heart which drew him toward the boy in an altogether 
novel manner, but no one will say that either was the 
worse for it. 

“Well,” he said, mildly, “prove to me that I have 
made no mistake. Go back to Crichton House now, 
work and play well, and try to keep out of mischief for 
the rest of the term. I trust to you,” he added, in a 
lower tone, “ while you remain at Rodwell Regis, to 
keep my — my connection with it a secret ; you owe that 
at least to me. You may probably have — ahem, some 
inconveniences to put up with — inconveniences you are 
not prepared for. You must bear them as your punish- 
ment.” 

And soon afterward a cab was called, and Dr. Grim- 
stone prepared to return to Rodwell Regis, with the 
deserter, by the last train. 

As Paul shook hands through the cab-window with 
his prodigal son, he repeated his warning. “ Mind,” he 
said, “yow have been at school all this past week ; you 
have run away to attend this party, you understand ? 
Good-by, my boy, and here’s something to put in your 
pocket, and — and another for Jolland ; but he need 
not know it comes from me.” And when Dick opened 
his hand afterward, he found two half-sovereigns in 
it. 

So the cab rolled away, and Paul went up to the 
drawing-room, where, although he certainly allowed the 
fireworks on the balcony and in the garden to languish 
forgotten on their sticks, he led all the other revels up 
to an advanced hour with a jovial abandon quite worthy 


THE RECKONIKH. 


345 


of Dick, and none of his little guests ever suspected the 
change of host. 

When it was all over, and the sleepy children had 
driven off, Paul sat down in an easy chair by the bright 
fire, which sparkled frostily in his bedroom, to think 
gratefully over all the events of the day — events which 
were beginning already to take an unreal and fantastic 
shape. 

Bitterly as he had suffered, and in spite of the just 
anger and thirst for revenge with which he had returned, 
I am glad to say he did not regret the spii’it of mild- 
ness that had stayed his hand when his hour of triumph 
came. 

His experiences, unpleasant as they had been, had 
had their advantages : they had drawn him and his 
family closer together. 

In his daughter Barbara, as she wished him good- 
night (knowing nothing, of course, of the escape), he 
had suddenly become aware of a girlish freshness and 
grace he had never looked for or cared to see before. 
Roly, after this, too, had a claim upon him he could 
never wish to forget, and even with the graceless Dick 
there was a warmer and more natural feeling on both 
sides — a strange result, no doubt, of such unfilial be- 
havior, but so it was. 

Mr. Bultitude would never after this consider his 
family as a set of troublesome and thankless incum- 
brances ; thanks to Dick’s offices during the interreg- 
num, they would henceforth throw off their reserve and 
constraint in their father’s presence, and, in so doing, 
open his eyes to qualities of which he had hitherto been 
in contented ignorance. 


346 


VICE VERSl. 


It would be pleasanter, perhaps, to take leave of Mr. 
Bultitude thus, as he sits by his bedroom fire in the first 
fiush of supreme and unalloyed content. 

But I feel almost bound to point out a fact which 
few will find any difficulty in accepting — namely, that, 
although the wrong had been retrieved without scandal 
or exposure, for which Paul could not be too thankful, 
there were many consequences which could not but sur- 
vive it. 

Neither father nor son found himself exactly in the 
same position as before their exchange of characters. 

It took Mr. Bultitude considerable time and trouble 
to repair all the damage his son’s boyish excesses had 
wrought both at Westbourne Terrace and in the city. 
He found the discipline of his clerks’ room and counting- 
house sorely relaxed, and his office-boy in particular at- 
tempted a tone toward him of such atrocious famili- 
arity that he was indignantly dismissed, much to his as- 
tonishment, the very first day. And probably Paul will 
never quite clear himself of the cloud that hangs over 
a man of business who, in the course of however well 
regulated a career, is known to have been at least once 
“a little odd.” 

And his home, too, was distinctly demoralized : his 
cook was an artist, unrivaled at soups and entrees ; but 
he had to get rid of her, notwithstanding. 

It was only too evident that she looked upon herself 
as the prospective mistress of his household, and he did 
not feel called upon as a parent to fulfill any expecta- 
tions which Dick’s youthful cupboard-love had uninten- 
tionally excited. 

For some time, as fresh proof of Dick’s extravagan- 
ces came home to him, Paul found it cost him no little 


THE RECKONING. 


347 


effort to restrain a tendency to liis former bitterness and 
resentment, but be valued the new understandinar be- 
tween himself and his son too highly to risk losing it 
again by any open reproach, and so with each succeed- 
ing discovery the victory over his feelings became 
easier. 

As for Dick, he found the inconveniences at which 
his father had hinted anything but imaginary, as will 
perhaps be easily understood. 

It was an unpleasant shock to discover that in one 
short week his father had contrived somehow to procure 
him a lasting unpopularity. He was obviously looked 
upon by all, masters and boys, as a confirmed coward 
and sneak. And although some of his companions 
could not fairly reproach him on the latter score, the 
imputation was particularly galling to Dick, who had 
always treated such practices with sturdy contempt. 

He was sorely tempted at times to right himself by 
declaring the real state of the case ; but he remembered 
his promise and his father’s unexpected clemency, and 
his gratitude always kept him silent. 

He never quite understood how it was that the whole 
school seemed to have an impression that they could 
kick and assault him generally with perfect impunity ; 
but a few very unsuccessful experiments convinced 
them that this was a popular error on their part. 

Although, however, in everything else he did gradu- 
ally succeed in recovering all the ground his father had 
lost him, yet there was one respect in which, I am sorry 
to say, he found all his efforts to retrieve himself hope- 
less. 

His pretty princess, with the gray eyes and soft 
brown hair, cruelly refused to have anything more to do 


348 


VICE VERSl. 


with him. For Dulcie’s pride had been wounded by 
what she considered his shameless perfidy on that mem- 
orable Saturday by the parallel bars, and the last linger- 
ing traces of affection had vanished before Paul’s in- 
gratitude on the following Monday, and she never for- 
gave him. 

She did not even give him an opportunity of ex- 
plaining himself, never by word or sign, up to the last 
day of the term, showing that she was even aware of 
his return. What was worse, in her resentment she 
transferred her favor to Tipping, who became her hum- 
ble slave for a too brief period ; after which he was 
found wanting in polish, and was ignominiously thrown 
over for the shy new boy Kiffin, whose head Dick 
found a certain melancholy pleasure in punching in 
consequence. 

This was Dick’s punishment, and a very real and 
heavy one he found it. He is at Harrow now, where 
he is doing fairly well ; but I think there are moments 
even yet when Dulcie’s charming little face, her pretty 
confidences, and her chilling disdain, are remembered 
with something as nearly resembling a heartache as a 
healthy, unsentimental boy can allow himself. 

Perhaps, if some day he goes back once more to 
Crichton House “ to see the fellows,” this time with the 
mysterious glamour of a great public school about him, 
he may yet obtain forgiveness, for she is getting horri- 
bly tired of Kiffin, who, to tell the truth, is something 
of a milksop. 

As for the Garuda Stone, I really can not say what 
has become of it. Perhaps it was dashed to pieces on 
the cobble-stones of the stables behind the terrace, and 
a good thing too. Perhaps it was not, and is still in 


THE RECKONING. 


349 


f existence, with all its dangerous power as ready for use 

\ as ever it was ; and in that case the best I can wish my 

f readers is, that they may be mercifully preserved from 
finding it anywhere, or, if they are unfortunate enough 
to come upon it, that they may at least be more careful 
with it than Mr. Paul Bultitude, by whose melancholy 
example I trust they will take timely warning. 

And with these very sincere wishes I beg to bid 
them a reluctant farewell. 











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HISTORY OF THE WORED, FROM THE EARLIEST RECORDS TO 
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MONTESQUIEU’S CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CAUSES OF 
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A New Translation, together with an Introduction, Critical and Illustrative 
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THE PROPHETS OF ISRAEL, AND THEIR PLACE IN HIS- 
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THE VISION OF ESTHER. By Charles De Eat. A sequel to “The 
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the signs of the time. The movement of thought, of discovery, of aspiration, is 
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world runs ; and Mr. De Kay is at least one American poet who has felt the fire 
of his age. He will live longer than the imitators of Longfellow and Bryant.” — 
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POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS: Being Part V of the PRINCIPLES OP 
SOCIOLOGY. (The concluding portion of Volume II.) By Herbert 
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SH^ROHS IN THE USE OF ENGUISH. By the late William B, Hodg- 
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proving with what wonderful carelessness or incompetency the English language 
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DEMOSTHENES. By S. H. Butcher, Fellow of University College, Oxford. 
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“Classical Writers” now consist of: “Sophocles,” by Lew'is Campbell; 
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THE IVIETROPOIilTAN MUSEUM OF ART: An Illustrated Folio 
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THE MODERN STENOGRAPHER : A Complete System of Light-line 
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HISTORY OF THE FOR^IATION OF THE CONSTITUTION OP 
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. By George Bancroft. 
Uniform with, and a continuation of, the author’s “ History of the United 
States.” In 2 vols., 8vo, $2.50 per vol. 

“The American Constitution is the most wonderful w'ork ever struck off, at a 
given time, by the brain and purpose of man.” — William E. Gladstone. 

“ Mr. George Bancroft, in his eighty-second year — an age which few men reach, 
and at which mw of those who do reach it retain the disposition or the capacity 
for protracted literary labor— sends out to the world a work which, in its clear- 
ness and strength of diction, its breadth of scope, its wealth of fresh material, 
and its philosophic grasp of events and their causes, would have reflected honor 
upon his prime. His ‘ History of the Formation of the Constitution of the 
United States of America’ may be viewed either as a continuation of his pre- 
vious ‘History of the United States,’ or as an independent work; and, viewed 
in either aspect, it is a contribution to our literature of singular value and im- 
portance.”— .Boston Journal. 

“It is nearly a half-century since George Bancroft published the first volume 
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it will rest in after-time. He now gives to the world two additional volumes of 
his colossal undertaking, for, although possessing another title, they, in truth, 
are but a part of the work begun so long ago .”— York Times. 

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CEN- 
TURY. By W. E. H. Leckt, author of “ History of the Rise and Influ- 
ence of the Spirit of Rationalism in Europe,” etc. Volumes III and IV, 
extending from the accession of George III to 1784, the opening year of 
Pitt’s first ministry, and covering the period of the American Revolution, 
Published by arrangement with the author. Large 12mo. Uniform with 
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$2.25 each. 

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problems, was the most pregnant in the modern history of Great Britain. It 
was during thpse momentous years that the relation of the Crown to a Ministry 
representing the House of Commons was definitely fixed, that the necessity of 
parliamentary reform and the expediency of abolishing Catholic disabilities were 
distinctly recognized, and that the influence of the newspaper press acquired un- 
precedented weight among political agencies, and called for new guarantees of 
freedom by changes in the law of libel. This was the period of Burke’s most 
potent and exemplary activity, of the Middlesex election in which Wilkes played 
a part analogous to that taken by Bradlaugh in our own day, of the ministries of 
Bute, Grenville, Rockingham, Chatham, Shelburne, and the younger Pitt. 

“ At home and abroad this quarter of a century was memorable for conquests 
and revolutions. The aflTairs of the East India Company were administered by 
Clive, and the vast accessions of territory in Bengal were supplemented by those 
resulting from the war with Ilyder Ali. In America the discontent of the thir- 
teen colonies had ripened into open revolt, and all the phases of the contest are 
exhibited in these volumes, up to the last year of exhaustion and inaction which 
preceded the final peace. Simultaneous with this movement on the other side 
of the Atlantic w'as the growth of political discontent in Ireland, which culmi- 
nated in the demand for legislative independence. All of these topics are carefully 
discussed by Mr, Lecky, and the spirit which he evinces is so candid and impar- 
tial that his conclusions will be listened to with attention and respect, even where 
they run counter to the reader’s individual opinions and predilections.”— A’ezg 
York Sun. 

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MYTH AND SCIENCE. By Tito Vignoli. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Contents: The Ideas and Sources of Myth; Animal Sensation and Percep- 
tion ; Human Sensation and Perception ; Statement of the Problem ; The Ani- 
mal and Human Exercise of the Intellect in the Perception of Things ; The 
Intrinsic Law of the Faculty of Apprehension ; The Historical Evolution of 
Myth and Science ; Of Dreams, Illusions, Normal and Abnormal Hallucinations, 
Delirium, and Madness. 

“ His book is ingenious ; . . . his theory of how science gradually differen- 
tiated from and conquered myth is extremely well wrought out, and is probably in 
essentials cotxQcV'— Saturday Review. 

PIIYSICAIi EDUCATION; or. The Health Eaws cf Nature. By 
Felix L. Oswald, M. D. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

The greater part of the contents of this volume appeared in a series of 
papers in “The Popular Science Monthly,” where they attracted wide atten- 
tion on account of the freshness of many of the ideas and the force with which 
they were presented. No recent book on this subject is marked with so much 
special learning, original illustration, and incisive argument. 

Contents: Diet; In-door Life; Out-door Life; Gymnastics- Clothing; 
Sleep ; Itecreation ; Kcmedial Education ; Hygieuic Precautions ; Popular Fal- 
lacies. 

“ The title would seem to point to a dry, technical essay, on a much-discussed 
subject, but the reader who, entertaining that idea, passes it by, misses a strong, 
pungent book, full of common-sense suggestions, many of which, however, run 
counter to the popular idea. The author believes that the principal cause of 
human degeneration is the use of unnatural food.”— Transcript. 

“ There is no question about the great value of these essays as instructors in 
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sleep, and recreation, and as furnishing hints on remedial education and hy- 
gienic precautions.” — Utica Herald. 

“Dr. Oswald is as epigrammatic as Emerson, as spicy as Montaigne, and as 
caustic as Heine.” — Philadelphia Press. 

HISTORY OF FRANCE. New volume in “History Primers,” edited by 
J. R. Green. By Charlotte M, Yonge. 18mo, cloth, flexible. 45 cents. 

THE SONG WAVE: A Collection of Choice 3Iusic, with Elementary 
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Containing a brief, practical, and comprehensive course of elementary in- 
struction, with a great variety of selections, adapted to all occasions, including 
standing favorites and many new songs. 6vo, boards, 80 cents. 

DIE ANNA-EISE: A German Play by Hermann Hersch, with an 
Interlinear Translation, and Directions for learning to read 
German. By C. F. Kroeh, A. M., Professor of Modem Languages in the 
Stevens Institute of Technology. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


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CAPITAIi AND POPULATION : A Study of the Economic Effects • 
of their Relations to Each Other. By I'eedeuick B. Hawlet. 
12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ It would be false modesty in me to seem unaware that the economic law I 
have attempted to establish equals in its influence upon economic conclusions 
any hitherto ascertained. Granted its truth, it throws new and decisive light on 
nearly all the unsolved problems of the —Extract from Preface. 

SnAKESPEARE FR03I AN A3IERICAN POINT OF VIEW ; in- 
cluding an Inquiry as to his Religious Faith and to his Knowl- 
edge of Law ; with the Baconian Theory considered. By George 
Wilkes. Third edition, revised and corrected by the author. 8vo. Cloth, 
$3.50. 

THE RHYMESTER? or, The Rules of Rhyme. A Guide to English 
Versiflcation. With a Dictionary of Rhymes, an Examination of Classical 
Measures, and Comments upon Burlesque, Comic Verse, and Song-Writing. 
By the late Tom Hood. Edited, with Additions, by Arthur Penn. 18mo, 
cloth, gilt or red edges. Uniform wdth “The Ortboepist” and “The 
Verbalist.” $1.00. , 

Three whole chapters have been added to this work by the American editor — 
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occasional alterations, frequent insertions, and revising the dictionary of rhymes. 

STUDIES IN THE LIFE OF CHRIST. By the Rev. A. M. Faipbairn, j 
D. D., Principal of Airedale College, Bradford, and author of “Studies in I 
the Philosopliy of Religion and History.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Contents : The Historical Conditions — Tte Narratives of the Birth and In- j 
fancy— The Growth and Education of Jesus ; His Personality — The Baptist and | 
the Christ — The Temptation of Christ — The New Teacher; the Kingdom of i 
Heaven— Galilee, Judea, Samaria — The Master and the Disciples— The Earlier 
Miracles— Jesus and the Jews— The Later Teaching — Tlie Later Miracles — Jericho 
and Jerusalem — Gethsemane — The Betrayer— The Chief Priests — The Trial — The 
Crucifixion — The Resurrection. 

“ These ‘ Studies in the Life of Christ ’ are not exhaustive and critical discus- 
sions on the Gospel History, but are simply attempts at orientation— at reaching 
points of view from which the life of Christ may be understood and construed. 

. . . The author sends the volume forth in the hope that it may help to make the 
Person it seeks to interpret more real, living, and lovable, to the men of to-day.” 
—From Preface. 

“ Professor Fairbaim’s thoughtful and brilliant sketches. Dr. Fairbairn’s is 
not the base rhetoric often employed to hide want of thought or poverty of 
thought, but the noble rhetoric which is alive with thought and imagination to 
its utmost and finest extremities.”— Rev. Samuel Cox, m t?ie Expositor. 

“ We can scarcely describe the depth and tnithfulness and power of his teach- 
ing as given here. From the beginning to the end, with not more than two or 
three exceptions, what the author says is more than satisfactory. The volume is 
one more suited for study than for mere reading ; and yet, as regards the matter 
of style, it is fully equal to Canon Farrar’s popular delineation, while, as regards 
wisdom, it is vastly superior to it.” — The Churchman. 

“ These ‘ studies ’ are admirable. They are evangelical and modem, and in 
thought and style of expression are strong, clear, and fresh. They do not ignore 
the objections and arguments of skeptics, but clearly Christ is to the author more 
than a mere mental abstraction.”— 2^ United Presbyterian. 


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